erie landon faced her father across the breakfast table, dimpled chin cupped in her brown hand. it was early morning; a red sun was just lifting above the point to wipe away the white mists of the channel and the bay. the american yacht which had put into harbor the night before had cleared and was now but a white speck in the distance.

"she ought to make cleveland before dark if this breeze holds," the light-house keeper said as he twisted the big cigar which the commodore had given him about in his fingers. "just what word was it that lawyer chap, maddoc, wanted us to get to swanson, at the foot, erie?"

"why, he asked us to tell swanson that he and a friend are coming to his place to stay for a couple of weeks duck-shooting, daddy," erie answered.

"when?"

"early in october, mr. maddoc said."

"humph! it does beat all what foolish ideas them big guns take. think of them two comin' all the way from cleveland here just to shoot ducks. old man swanson knows his book, too. he charges them sports awful prices; nine dollars a week each and makes 'em sleep two in a bed at that; and every fall that old ramblin' house of his is chuck kerbang full of shooters."

landon was much improved in health. he spoke with little effort, the hollows in his cheeks were filling and his eyes were brighter than the girl had seen them for many a day. he gazed longingly down at the cigar, then glancing up to catch his daughter's reproachful look, sighed and laid it on the table.

"i'd love to smoke it," he confessed, "but you needn't worry, chick. i'm through with tobacco till i'm my real self ag'in. but i feel so darned much better since i quit smokin' i simply want to smoke all the more."

"poor old daddy," erie laughed, coming around to sit on the arm of his chair. "it does seem too bad you can't have your smoke. i'm sure you miss it dreadfully; but you see you are so much stronger and better i—well, i simply won't let you smoke just yet, that's all."

his face had brightened at the sound of her laughter. now he patted her hand, as his eyes sought the window. perhaps the old songs would come back even as the laughter had come and surprise him. perhaps she was forgetting stanhope. but no, much as he desired that this should be, he knew her too well for that.

with his eyes on the white sail, now a tiny dot on the horizon, his mind went back to that scene of a month ago, when he had told her of hinter's proposal and of his consent to it. he would never quite forget the look that came into her face.

"i could never marry hinter," she had said. "i love one man—and to him i shall be true, always."

"but he is blind, child. he has given you up," landon had reasoned. and with her face aglow she had answered. "he is blind, but he can never give me up, because he loves me."

reading in the dry, suffering eyes she had turned upon him a purpose stronger than life itself, what could he do but take her in his arms and ask her to forgive him for the old meddler he was? perhaps he had erred in this. he did not want to think so. but she looked so much like her mother that morning it might be—

"daddy."

he came out of his abstraction with a start and glanced at her, almost guiltily. "yes, chick."

"have you told mr. hinter yet?" she asked suddenly.

"yes," he answered. "i told him that same day. told him that you said you could never be more to him than what you now are. why do you ask, erie?"

"i have wondered why he keeps coming here," she said slowly. "you scarcely need his companionship, now you are busy with your duties. but there," she broke off with a smile, "i have no right to doubt his sincerity; i am sure he has never spoken one word to me that he should not speak and i know he is really fond of you."

landon knit his shaggy brows. "i don't know, chick. i'm afraid he still hopes. he has as much as told me so. 'we've been too hasty with her,' he said, 'we must have patience.'"

erie's face went very white. "he mustn't come here any more," she said quickly. "with your permission i shall tell him so, daddy."

he was silent for a time. "just as you like," he said at length. "if his comin' annoys you, dear, you tell him so."

she bent and kissed him. "best daddy ever was," she whispered. then jumping up she ran to the stove and put the kettle on.

"i saw billy wilson yesterday when i was out sailing," she called, "and he had the sweetest little girl with him. her name is lou scroggie and i fell in love with her on sight."

"billy with a girl!" cried landon in wonder.

"yes. they were out in billy's punt, gathering water-lilies, and, oh daddy, they seemed so happy. i could have hugged them both. billy told me that he and maurice keeler were going shooting ducks this morning and i asked him to come over here for breakfast as usual. the marsh shooting is all over by sunrise, you know."

her father nodded. "i'll bet a cookie that was billy's old muzzle loader i heard down in the duck-ponds about daylight," he laughed. "maybe," he added hopefully, "he'll fetch us a brace of ducks."

"why, there he is now," she cried, glancing through the window. "maurice isn't with him, though. i know that old punt as far as i can see it. i must get the potatoes and bacon on; he'll be hungry as a bear."

landon put on his hat and went down to the beach to welcome their visitor. "well, billy," he called as the punt appeared around the bend in the shore, "how many ducks did old liza-ann drop out of the sky this mornin'?"

"two greys and a mallard," billy answered over his shoulder. "could'a killed more, but what's the use. they wouldn't keep; weather's too warm."

"well now, i can't see why a dozen wouldn't keep as well as three," returned the keeper, as he pulled the punt high on shore.

"they would, i s'pose," laughed billy as he stepped out, followed by moll, the little spaniel, "but these three don't have to keep long; you see we're goin' to have these fer dinner."

"are we now?" landon rubbed his hands and smacked his lips in anticipation. "you're goin' to stay and help clean up on 'em, billy?"

"yep, i'll stay. i'm goin' to paint erie's skiff fer her. i'll slip into the ponds ag'in on my way to the settlement an' kill enough ducks fer our folks an' the neighbors."

erie was waving to him from the kitchen door. "where's maurice?" she called.

"his ma wouldn't let him come. afraid he'd get wet an' go sick ag'in. gee! that coffee smells good, erie."

"go 'long in and tackle it while it's hot," advised landon. "i'll start in on pluckin' these birds. but first we'll have to let chick see 'em. say, billy, they're nigh as big as tame 'uns!"

erie clasped her hands in ecstasy at sight of the wild ducks. "oh, aren't they lovely!" she cried. "put them in the ice-house, daddy, until billy starts for home."

billy, who had squared away at his breakfast, spoke with his mouth full. "we're goin' to have 'em fer dinner," he informed his hostess.

"but, billy," she remonstrated, "they'll be expecting you to bring some ducks home, you know."

"billy says he'll shoot some more this evenin'," spoke up her father, who did not intend to allow anything to interfere with a duck dinner if he could help it.

"these ducks wouldn't keep till i get home," said billy.

"no," supported landon, "weather's too warm, you see, chick. i'll start in on dressin' 'em right now," he chuckled, exchanging winks with billy.

"you're a pair of plotters," cried erie, "and being a weak, helpless girl i suppose i'll have to agree with you and submissively roast those birds to suit your taste."

"you'll find onions and savory hangin' to the rafters upstairs," suggested her father as he carried the ducks outside.

erie sat down opposite to billy, and watched him while he ate. he smiled across at her. "your dad seems a whole lot better," he said.

"yes, ever so much. he's almost his old self again. he has quit smoking, you see, and he has promised me not to smoke until he is quite well again."

billy laid down his knife and fork and smiled reminiscently. "i was jest thinkin' of ol' harry o'dule," he said, answering the question in her eyes. "he's quit a bad habit, too. he's quit drinkin'; don't touch a drop any more—hasn't fer over a month now."

"oh isn't that splendid," cried the girl. "he's such a dear old fellow when he's sober. do you suppose he'll be strong enough to give up drink altogether, billy?"

"well, he seems to be in earnest about it. i re'lly don't think he'll drink any more. he says that he's got his tin whistle an' his cat an' don't need whisky. he's changed wonderful, there's no mistake about that. ma saw him yesterday. he was dressed in his prince albert an' plug hat, an' ma says he was that changed she didn't know him at first."

erie laughed softly, "i know very well you've had a hand in his reform, billy," she said.

"nope," denied billy, "but i ain't sayin' but that my owls an' snakes might have played a part in it." and he proceeded to relate the deception he had practiced on harry while the old man was in his cups.

the girl clapped her hands in joy at the story. "and you let him think he had the delirium tremens! oh, billy, is there anything you wouldn't do, i wonder?"

billy shook his head. "i dunno," he replied. "that's a hard question to answer."

silence fell between them. he knew that she was thinking that last year on the opening morning of the duck season frank stanhope had sat at this table with him. she was gazing from the window, far down to where the point was lost in the settlement forests. he saw her bosom rise and fall, saw a tear grow up in her eyes and roll unheeded down her cheek.

in boyish sympathy his hand reached out to clasp the slender brown one clenched upon the white cloth. he longed to ask her if what the settlement was saying—that she was going to marry hinter—was true. and then as quickly as the thought itself came shame of it. his hand clasped her hand more tightly.

"he went with me to the foot of the causeway last night, ag'in," he said softly.

she turned and the blood mounted swiftly to her white cheeks. "and did he feel the light again, billy?" she whispered eagerly.

"he felt the light," said the boy, "an' he sang all the way back home."

"oh!" she cried and hid her face on her arms.

billy arose hastily, saying something about helping her father with the ducks and went outside. he found landon seated on a soap-box behind the boat house, industriously stripping the ducks of their feathers.

"say," said the man as billy came up, "you know when ducks put on an extra coverin' of feathers a hard winter is in sight? well, by gosh, these birds have all put on an extra undershirt. look," holding the duck in his hands up for inspection. "how's that for a coat o' down?"

"it sure is heavy," agreed billy. "i saw another sure sign over there in the ponds that says it's goin' to be a hard winter, one i've never knowed to fail. it was the mushrat houses. the rats are throwin' 'em up mighty big an' thick."

"and warm, i'll bet."

"yep, an' warm. we're sure to have a rough fall an' a humdinger of a winter."

"and i s'pose a rough fall means good duckin'?" laughed landon. "oh, by the way, billy, before i forget. would you mind runnin' in to old swanson's landin' on your way home and tellin' him that a couple of fellers from cleveland are comin' to his place early next month to shoot. they were here last night. one of em's a lawyer named maddoc an' he give me this money to pass on to swanson, so's the old codger would be sure and hold a room for 'em."

he felt in his vest pocket and fished out a ten dollar note, which he handed to billy. "maddoc and a party of other men were cruisin' in a yacht. they docked here last night," he explained. "left at sunup for cleveland."

"i saw the yacht leave the pier," said billy. "she sure was a dandy, wasn't she?"

"never saw finer lines than her's," agreed landon. "you're sure you don't mind gettin' that word to swanson now, billy?"

"not a bit. i'll run in to his dock tonight, an' tell him."

"good. there, thank goodness this job of pluckin's done at last.". landon rose, rubbed his cramped legs and gathered the stripped ducks up by the necks. "we'll leave the rest to erie," he chuckled. "this is about as far as she ever lets me go. comin' in?"

billy shook his head. "i've got a skiff to paint 'fore three o'clock this afternoon," he said, "so i best get busy. tell erie not to ferget to blow the fog-horn when the ducks are done."

landon went on slowly to the kitchen. with his hand on the door-latch he paused and a smile lit his seamed face. above the clatter of dishes came a girl's sweet soprano:

"her voice was low and sweet,

and she's all the world to me,

and for bonnie annie laurie

i'd lay me down and dee."

"i knowed it," whispered the man, softly. "i knowed the old songs would come back ag'in. billy must have had somethin' to do with it; i'll bet a cookie he had!" he opened the door gently and entered. he placed the ducks on the table and softly withdrew again.

* * * * *

it was late afternoon when billy stepped into his punt and with swift, strong strokes sent it skimming toward the duck-ponds. at the point where the shore curved abruptly he lifted his hat and waved to the man and girl watching him from the pier.

moll looked up into his face and whined. "don't worry, girlie," billy told her, "we're goin' on, but we're comin' back ag'in soon an' have another o' erie's duck dinners, an' teacher stanhope's goin to be with us, don't you ferget that."

as he spoke, he saw another boat round the distant grass-point and put into jerunda cut, the entrance to the main pond. the smile left his face. "beat us to it, moll," he sighed to the spaniel whose brown eyes had also glimpsed the skiff. "they'll be set by the time we get in an' they've got the pick of the ponds, no use denyin' that. we'll have to portage 'cross to a back slough an' all the ducks we'll get a chance at are them they miss. well, cheer up," as the dog, sensing the disgust in his voice, growled deep in her throat.

reaching the cut billy found the other shooters having some difficulty in getting their heavy skiff through the shallow and deceptive water, a feat which only one who was used to navigating could hope to accomplish successfully. at the same time he noted, with a start, that the men in the skiff were the mysterious drillers, tom and jack.

"hello, you!" he shouted. "you'll have to back up an' take the run to your left."

the larger of the two men grunted a surly response and with much pushing and swearing they began to laboriously back out of the blind channel. billy and moll watched them, the dog growling her antagonism of the interlopers. as the skiff passed his bow billy noted that the guns lying across the seat were both of the new breech-loading pattern.

the occupants of the skiff cast a contemptuous look at his old muzzle-loader, as they passed, and one of them laughed and said something in an aside to his companion.

"do you expect to kill any ducks with that old iron?" he sneered, looking hard at billy.

billy felt his cheeks turn hot. "i might," he returned, "an' ag'in, i mightn't."

"that's one on you, tom," laughed the man named jack. "quit roasting the kid. we'd have been mired yet if it hadn't been for him."

tom allowed a shade of amiability to creep into his tones as he said: "first time we ever shot these grounds, and we're kinder green on the ins and outs of 'em. we're drillin' fer water down in the settlement. lost our drill this mornin' and had to send across the lake fer a fishin' outfit, so thought we'd put in the time shootin' a bit."

billy made no reply.

"neeborly, ain't he?" growled tom to his companion. "nice, friendly sorter youngsters they raise on this god forsaken spot, i say."

"he thinks you're guyin' him," said the other man. "how's he to know what you mean by 'fishin'-outfit?' he likely thinks you mean a rod and reel. better push along and mind your own business. next thing you're goin' to say is somethin' about 'shootin' a well,' and if jacobs gets to hear of that kinder talk—"

they were moving off, and billy did not hear the rest of the sentence. as they entered the main run, the smaller man called: "hey, sonny, whereabouts is the best point in yonder?"

billy gritted his teeth. he resented these strangers coming into his shooting grounds and acting as though they owned them. for them to expect him to show them just where the best point was to be found seemed to him to be going a whole lot too far. he disliked and distrusted them. from what he had seen and heard of them he believed they were the men who robbed the twin oaks store. he wanted to tell them so now, but something told him to curb his temper and act the part of a sport who could afford to make certain allowances.

"the best point's straight ahead of you," he answered. "you'll find a rush blind already built on it."

he picked up his paddle and followed in the wake of the other boat. the men were putting out their decoys as billy passed the point.

"say, you," called tom, "if this is such an all-fired good spot it's a wonder you didn't take it yourself; you had lots of time to beat us to it, didn't you?"

"you was in the run first, wasn't you?" said billy, coldly.

"why, sure we was, but we were stuck tight. you might have passed us, easy enough."

"well, we don't play the game that way in these parts," said billy and passed on, unheedful of the uncomplimentary names the chagrined driller threw after him.

half way down the long pond he drew into shore and, pulling the punt after him through the tall rushes, made the portage across to the inner slough. it was a long, hard pull, but the track he laid would make the return portage much easier.

"looks like a good feedin' place, moll," he addressed the spaniel as he paddled slowly across to the far shore of the slough. "good grass here fer hidin', too; but not much chance of findin' a down bird without a good dog, an' i've got her—eh girlie?"

moll wagged her short tail gleefully.

"now then, girlie, it's comin' on to flight-time, so well jest set out decoys right here." billy picked up the wooden ducks and placed them as naturally as he knew how some twenty yards out from shore. as he drew the punt well up among the tall rushes he saw the first line of ducks drift in from the bay.

"down, moll!" he whispered, as he cocked the old muzzle-loader. "they're headin' straight in. them driller fellers are goin' to get a chance to make a clean-up on that bunch, sure!"

straight across the marsh, following the cut, the ducks came on, half a dozen big "blacks," with long necks outstretched and quick eyes seeking for feeding ones of their own kind. then, suddenly, the leader gave a soft quack and billy saw the flock swoop low.

"oh, gollies! right into their decoys," he groaned. "now they'll give it to 'em, jest as they're settlin'."

a long, harrowing moment passed. then quickly and close together four shots rang out. moll whined dolefully and billy, peering through the rushes, gave a low whistle of surprise. "didn't down a single bird," he muttered, "an' by gollies, they've sent 'em right across to us."

almost simultaneously with his words the whistle of strong wings grew up and the six big blacks swept in, low over his decoys.

it was a sure hand that raised the old gun, a sure eye that glanced along its brown barrels. at the first loud report of the black powder the leader of the flock crumpled up and the second in command drifted sidewise from the flock. the left barrel spoke and a third duck twisted from the remainder of the flock, to fall with a splash into the water.

moll, whose eyes had never left the second bird down, had slipped quietly away through the rushes. billy, having launched the punt and retrieved the two birds on the water, found her waiting for him on shore, the dead duck in her mouth. he patted her brown side and spoke a word of commendation to her; then quickly he reloaded.

the sun was almost on the western horizon now and the ducks were beginning to come in fast, most of them from off the bay; consequently the shooters in the front pond had always first chance. but billy knew they were having little or no success. every duck that offered itself as a target to them he saw almost as soon as they did and although the report of their guns sounded at quick intervals the ducks seemed to keep on, straight across to where he crouched with the excited dog by his side.

by the time the sun had fallen behind the far rim of forest he was quite content with his evening's bag, which consisted of five blacks, a pair of greys, two blue winged teal, a pintail and a pair of green headed mallards.

quickly he made the portage and crossed the pond into jerunda. he could hear the other shooters ahead of him, speaking in profane tones of disgust at their luck. he found them waiting for him on the edge of the bay, but he kept right on paddling.

"what luck, sonny?" called the man, tom, as he passed.

billy told him of his bag.

the man swore and said something to his companion. "hey, hold up! want to sell part of them ducks?" he asked.

"nope." billy shipped his paddle and picked up his oars. somehow he felt safer then. he believed that men like those behind were capable of almost any crime. what if they should make up their minds to have his ducks anyway? well, they couldn't catch him now. there were two of them in a heavy skiff and he was alone in his light punt, so let them try it if they wanted to. but whatever might have been their thought, it was clear they knew better than pursue that swiftly moving boat. quickly they fell behind him and were swallowed up in the deepening shadows.