The next afternoon he was on hand very early.
He was there before Farmer Brown’s boy arrived,
and when he did come, of course the hunter saw him.
He walked down to where Farmer Brown’s boy was
hiding in the rushes. “Hello!” said
he. “Are you the one who was shooting
here last night and the night before?”
Farmer Brown’s boy grinned. “Yes,”
said he.
“What luck did you have?” asked the hunter.
“Fine,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy.
“How many Ducks did you get?” asked the
hunter.
Farmer Brown’s boy grinned more broadly than
before. “None,” said he. “I
guess I’m not a very good shot.”
“Then what did you mean by saying you had fine
luck?” demanded the hunter.
“Oh,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy,
“I had the luck to see those Ducks and the fun
of shooting,” and he grinned again.
The hunter lost patience. He tried to order
Farmer Brown’s boy away. But the latter
said he had as much right there as the hunter had,
and the hunter knew that this was so. Finally
he gave up, and muttering angrily, he went back to
his blind. Again the gun of Farmer Brown’s
boy frightened away the Ducks just as they were coming
in.
The next afternoon there was no hunter nor the next,
though Farmer Brown’s boy was there. The
hunter had decided that it was a waste of time to
hunt there while Farmer Brown’s boy was about.
Doubt not a friend, but to the last
Grip hard on faith and hold it fast.
— Blacky the Crow.
Every morning Blacky the Crow visited the rushes along
the shore of the Big River, hoping to find Dusky the
Black Duck. He was anxious, was Blacky.
He feared that Dusky or some of his flock had been
killed, and he wanted to know. You see, he knew
that Farmer Brown’s boy had been shooting over
there. At last, early one morning, he found
Dusky and his flock in the rushes and wild rice.
Eagerly he counted them. There were nine.
Not one was missing. Blacky sighed with relief
and dropped down on the shore close to where Dusky
was taking a nap.
“Hello!” said Blacky.
Dusky awoke with a start. “Hello, yourself,”
said he.
“I’ve heard a terrible gun banging over
here, and I was afraid you or some of your flock had
been shot,” said Blacky.
“We haven’t lost a feather,” declared
Dusky. “That gun wasn’t fired at
us, anyway.”
“Then who was it fired at?” demanded Blacky.
“I haven’t the least idea,” replied
Dusky.
“Have you seen any other Ducks about here?”
inquired Blacky.
“Not one,” was Dusky’s prompt reply.
“If there had been any, I guess we would have
known it.”
“Did you know that when that terrible gun was
fired there was another terrible gun right over behind
those bushes?” asked Blacky.
