Once during the discourse, the preacher, in calling the attention of his listeners to the presence of God in all the surroundings, turned toward the lake and said:
“In those beautiful fowls yonder, sailing so gracefully over the glassy surface of the element, behold the power, the wisdom—yea, the presence of God.”
Of course all eyes followed in the direction of the speaker’s, and every one within the assembly saw the flock of beautiful wild fowls, shyly, but slowly and steadily, nearing the beach.
Just then their ears were greeted by the long report of a rifle on the opposite side of the lake, that came booming over the water like a sunset gun, and reverberating away back among the hills, and rolling in a prolonged clang and crash through the forest aisles.
A small jet of water flashing upward in the center of the flock of ducks showed the settlers where the bullet, sent from the hunter’s rifle, had struck.
As the report of the rifle, which had so suddenly startled them, died away, a slight commotion was noticed among the settlers. By the report of the piece they knew full well who had fired it, for there was but one rifle of so heavy a caliber upon the border.
That rifle was owned by the celebrated hunter and scout known as Roll Raynor—nicknamed Old Tumult.
And the presence of Roll Raynor in the neighborhood betokened the coming of danger! However, the Rev. Mr. Ainesley soon quieted the fears of his audience and continued his discourse.
Madge Taft still sat, apparently in deep thought, watching the approaching fowls.
Suddenly, the ears of the audience were again greeted by the thunderous boom of Old Tumult’s rifle. And before they had fully caught the full report of the gun, a wild and almost unearthly scream was heard to issue from the waters of the lake.