“Certainly,” answered Frank, as he took the little animal in his arms.  “I have long wished for an otter, and I thank—­”

“Hold on there,” interrupted Lee.  “Keep your thanks for them as needs them, or likes to hear ’em.  We Hillers have got feelings as well as any body.  It’s our way of bringin’ up that makes us so bad.  Now, good-by; and, if you ever want any thing, jest call on Lee Powell.”

And he and his companions walked rapidly toward their boat, and soon disappeared.

CHAPTER XII.

A Deer-Hunt on the Water.

The next morning, after breakfast, Frank and his cousin, accompanied by the dogs, got into the skiff, and pulled up the creek, on a “prospecting expedition.”  They had started for the swamp, which lay about two miles and a half from the cottage, to see what the prospects were for a good muskrat-hunt in the spring.  This swamp covered, perhaps, five hundred acres, and near its center was a small lake, which emptied into Glen’s Creek.

A few moments’ pulling brought them to this lake, and Frank, who was seated at the helm, turned the boat’s head toward a high point that projected for some distance out into the lake, and behind which a little bay set back into the land.  This point was the only high land about the swamp, and stretched away back into the woods for several miles.  It was a favorite place for sunfish and perch; and the boys landed, and were rigging their poles, intending to catch some for their dinner, when they heard a strange noise, that seemed to come from the bay behind the point.  They knew in a moment that it was made by a duck, but still it was a sound they had never heard before, and, hunter-like, they determined to discover where it came from.  So, reaching for their guns, they crawled carefully through the bushes, until they came within sight of the bay.  A brood of young ducks, under the direction of two old ones, were sporting about among the broad leaves of the water-lilies.  They had never seen any like them before; but Frank knew in a moment, from descriptions he had often read, that they were eider-ducks, and he determined, if possible, to capture some of the young ones, which, he noticed, were but half-fledged, and too small to fly.  But the question was how to proceed.  If the ducklings could not fly, they could swim like a streak; and he knew that, the moment they were alarmed, they would either make for the opposite side of the bay or for the lake, and, if they succeeded in reaching the open water, he might whistle for his ducks.

His only chance was to corner them in the bay; they would then be obliged to hide among the lilies, and perhaps they might succeed in capturing some of them.

Hurriedly whispering to his cousin, they crept back to the skiff, pulled around the point, and entered the bay.  The moment they came in sight, the old ones uttered their cries of warning, took to wing, and flew out over the lake, and, as they had expected, the young ones darted in among the lilies, and were out of sight in an instant.  But the boys had kept their eyes open, and knew about where to look for them; and, after half an hour’s chase, they succeeded in securing three of them with the dip-net.