At this moment the report of a gun was heard at the edge of a small lake near.
Barney had fired into a flock of ducks and had killed three. Presently he came up with his prize.
“Begorra, it’s a foine shot I med!” he cried. “I thried for one, and, be me sowl! hit tree av thim. Divil a bit betther cud any wan ask!”
Everybody laughed at this, and then all separated for the hunt.
There was no game upon the isle but birds. Beasts or animals of even the smallest order did not exist.
But ducks and geese were quite plenty.
A good bag of these was secured, and then the party returned to the camp under the cliff.
A fire was built and the game roasted. A hearty meal was partaken of, and then all sat down in a circle about the fire and told stories and cracked jokes until midnight.
Truly the life upon the isle was not without its bright side. How long it would last, however, it was not easy to say.
Several days more passed, and nothing worthy of note occurred.