"Just so," added Mr. Burr, whose anger was greatly appeased. "They will certainly draw the birds."
"It seems, then, that we have paid them an unintentional compliment," said Bob.
"I'm willing to view the incident in that light," said Mr. Burr. "I hope the young gentleman who come so near to fixing me ain't got no ill will."
"Don't 'young gentleman' me," growled John. "If my shoulder doesn't turn black and blue, it will be a wonder."
"I always said you was rash, Steven Burr," said his wife; "and this proves it. Just think how lucky it was for me to come along and save you."
The humor of this was highly appreciated by all except John Hackett.
They found on acquaintance, however, that Steven Burr was not a bad sort of man. He insisted on the boys visiting his shack, as he termed it, and also gave them a great deal of useful information about the surrounding country. He and his son worked in a logging camp not far distant. The shack, which was made of logs and situated near the lake, proved to be a very interesting place, and even John Hackett forgot his ill humor before they took their departure.
The boys concluded to tramp along the shore of the lake, notwithstanding the fact that they encountered occasional bits of marsh-land and small brooks. They laughed and joked about their ludicrous mistake, resolving to profit by the experience.
The scenery was sufficiently varied to make their progress interesting. Dragon-flies in great numbers hovered over the water or darted about. Off in the distance, several cranes could be seen, while an ever-watchful hawk soared against the white patches of cloud overhead.
A flock of sandpipers flew in range, and circled around. Bang—bang—bang. The sharp reports of three guns broke the stillness, and several birds were seen to fall.