“And now for the fun,” cried Fred. “Won’t he be mad though?”
Grant stopped and sinking to one knee he raised the little rifle to his shoulder.
“Don’t miss him, Grant,” chuckled Fred.
The gun spoke, and a moment later the faint report came to the ears of the three boys who watched from behind the elderberry bushes.
“Did he hit him?” laughed George. “What’s he doing?”
Grant had jumped to his feet after the first shot and started to run along the shore. He came to the log where the dead heron had been propped up but he did not stop there. He continued on past this spot and the conspirators for the first time had an inkling that all was not going as they had hoped.
“What’s happened?” demanded John in surprise. “What’s he after?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Fred blankly.
Some fifty or sixty feet beyond the spot where the dead log lay Grant continued. Not one of his friends had been looking at this place for their attention had been riveted on the dead heron.
The grass grew level with Grant’s knees where he was now. He leaned over and seemed to be looking down at something on the ground at his feet.