“Halt here for breakfast,” said Wild Nat, stopping in the edge of the woods, and slipping the saddle off his horse. “We’re ready ’nough for it, I guess.”
“Yes, but whar’s the vittals?” asked Scip.
“Can’t ye see them ducks yender by the river?” asked Vic. “We’ll hev some of them ef nothin’ else turns up.”
The whole party now dismounted. Nat proceeded to care for the animals and prepare a fire, while Vic and Kent took their rifles, and started toward the river.
Marion wandered about the edge of the grove, and plucked a few wild-flowers with the dew still on their bright petals, half forgetting her hunger in her admiration of the lovely scene before her.
The sun was just up, and the cool green woods were deliciously fresh and pleasant, with the dew on the leaves and grass, while the birds burst out in trills of melody among the branches. A squirrel ran along her pathway, stopping a moment to turn his head on one side, and scan her with his little bright eyes, and then with a “chit-er-e-e,” was off among the bushes.
Over the river the flocks of ducks rose and fell, and merrily through the forest rung the echoes of the hunters’ guns, showing they were not idle.
As she stood contemplating the scene, Scip loudly called her, and going to him she found him sitting on the ground, close up to the hollow end of a fallen tree, with something in his hands. He evidently was pleased, for his capacious mouth was stretched in a broad grin, showing at least twenty-four of his thirty-two glistening ivories.
“Yah, yah! Jest see here, Miss Marion.”
“What is it?” asked Marion, curiously, as she approached.