“Not bad, for an unromantic imagination,” said Victor, with much gravity. “Were there any ducks and geese there?”
“Yes, ducks; plenty of them, but no geese; and nobler game—even lions were there, so tame that little children could lead them.”
“Better and better,” said Victor; “and what of the people?”
Ian was on the point of saying that they were all—men, women, and children—the exact counterparts of Elsie Ravenshaw, but he checked himself and said that they were all honest, sincere, kind, gentle, upright, and that there was not a single cynical person there, nor a—
“Hush! what sort of a bird is that?” interrupted Victor, laying his hand on Ian’s arm and pointing to a small patch of reeds in the lake.
There were so many birds of various kinds gambolling on the surface, that Ian had difficulty in distinguishing the creature referred to. At last he perceived it, a curious fat-bodied little bird with a pair of preposterously long legs, which stood eyeing its companions as if in contemplative pity.
“I know it not,” said Ian; “never saw it before.”
“We’ll bag it now. Stand back,” said Victor, raising his gun.
The above conversation had been carried on in a low tone, for the friends were still concealed by a bush from the various and numerous birds which disported themselves on the lake in fancied security and real felicity.
The crash of Victor’s gun sent them screaming over the tree-tops—all save the fat creature with the long legs, which now lay dead on the water.