“Surely no. There’s lots of wood here, an’ I’ll start the fire in a jiffy. Come along. Hurroo, boys!”
So Pat and Johnny set the fire going, and then they picked the duck,—-which was previously killed, of course,—and they had him all ready to lay on the coals, when suddenly, their attention was arrested by a low, muffled, piteous squeal close by them behind the wood-pile.
“H-s-s-s-s-h!” said Johnnie.
“Botheration!” said Pat, hiding the duck under a log of wood.
“What is it?” said Johnnie.
“Sure it’s a pig—that’s what it is,” said Pat.
A rustle was heard now in the bushes, and then Sammy walked out from behind the wood-pile. His face had a bright expression of satisfaction, and he, too, had something under his arm.
“It’s another duck!” said Pat, with a wild laugh.
“Sammy’s been out fishin’, too,” and he went off into a peal of laughter.
“Stop your noise,” said Sammy. “I thought you were somebody else, and that’s why I had to come through the trees, and behind the wood-pile.”