“My friend here,” replied the unlucky, pointing to the lucky, man, “once intimated to me that his first day’s duck-shooting was the best and pleasantest he ever had, but would never give me the satisfaction of the particulars.”
“The story, the story, let us have the story!” burst forth the chorus, with delight.
“I will tell it on one condition,” responded the party addressed: “that the gentleman who suggested it shall give a true account of his first day’s trout-fishing.”
All hands shouted with delight at the prospect of two stories, scenting a joke in the suggestion, but the unlucky man replied, pitifully, “I will if I must, but there are more agreeable episodes in my existence.”
“Never mind that; if I confess, so must you.
“Many years ago, gentlemen, myself and a friend had driven down on Long Island for a few days at the ducks. He was an old sportsman, and promised to initiate me, who had acquired considerable facility with my gun, but had never yet been in a battery on the bay.
“It is not necessary to say at what house we stopped; the island is dotted with them—the best in the country—and as it was necessary to be up at two o’clock in the morning in order to follow down the creek and row out to the feeding grounds, we retired early. Strict injunctions were left with the hostler to wake us at the appointed hour; but as there was a grand ball going on in the hall adjoining the hotel, his recollection was not to be depended upon.
“The beds were good; but, either disturbed by dreams of ducks or sounds of revelry, my sleep was fitful. I was at last awakened by a loud noise, which I took to be some one knocking at the door, and sleepily rising, saw a light shining through the crack as it stood ajar. I woke my companion, who responded with an unwilling grunt, and thinking the hostler had left the candle for our accommodation, I stepped out to get it.
“The night was cold, my dress was light and airy, the distant sounds of expiring revelry were still faintly audible, and I hastened to get the light that I might hurry on warmer clothes. To my surprise, on opening the door, the candle appeared to be some yards off on the floor, in the middle of what seemed to be an adjoining room. My eyes, dazzled by the sudden change from total darkness, saw little as I stumbled forward; but when I turned, light in hand, to regain my room, I came suddenly upon a bed, and stopped as though shot.
“Gentlemen, a bed is nothing unusual or surprising in a country tavern, but there is sometimes a great deal in it. In this particular instance there was not even much in it, but that little was of the female sex. Astonishment changed to admiration. She was very pretty, her rosy cheek rested pillowed on one little hand, while the other arm was thrown gracefully across her head, framing her innocent child-like face in a cloud of white. She was lying on her side, and below her arm the bed-clothes sank down to her waist and then rose in a magnificent swell. Her hair in massive curls poured upon the pillow, and one strayed round her throat and joined with the white drapery in protecting her neck.