“Well, that’s soon done. Shall I carry the birds down to the boat?”
“Nay; we wean’t take them to-day. I’ve sin more pie-wipes than ruffs, so let’s try for them.”
He went round to the back of the hovel and took from the roof a cage which the lads had not yet seen, containing seven green plovers, and this was carried to the boat, where the frightened birds ran to and fro, thrusting their necks between the wicker bars in a vain attempt to escape.
This done, a bundle of net, some long stout cord, and poles were carefully placed in the stern, after which Dave went into his cottage to bring out a mysterious-looking basket, which was also placed in the stern of the boat.
“That’s about all,” said the man, after a moment’s thought; and unfastening the punt after the boys were in, he pushed off, but only to turn back directly and secure the boat again.
“Why, what now, Dave?” cried Dick. “Aren’t you going?”
“Going, lad! yes; but I thowt if we caught no bohds you might like me to shute one or two.”
“Well, we’ve got the gun and plenty of powder.”
“Ay, lad; but I’ve lost my last flint, and I’ve got to knap one.”
The boys followed him ashore, leaving the plovers fluttering in the cage, and Dave went inside his cottage, and returned directly with a hammer and a piece of flint, which he turned over two or three times so as to get the stone in the right position, as, taught by long experience, he struck a sharp blow.