"Wait until we get a little nearer," warned Bob. "Now!"
A succession of shots followed.
Four fat little sandpipers, or grass plover, were picked up, and as they are delicious eating, the addition to their larder was welcome.
About half an hour later, the boys discovered that a flock of wood-ducks had alighted in a copse near the lake.
The eyes of the Ramblers and Nimrods fairly sparkled, as they began to work their way carefully toward them. Some distance ahead, a stretch of high grass happily served to conceal their movements. They crept stealthily forward, foot by foot, fearful each moment that the flock would take alarm.
A short interval of suspense, and Bob cautiously raised his head above the waving fringe of grass.
"Ready!" he whispered. "Fire!"
Almost simultaneously eight reports echoed and reëchoed from the near-by hills.
The ducks instantly arose, flying swiftly in every direction.
John Hackett rushed forward, followed by the others, and they saw five birds outstretched upon the ground.