"And mine is blown off entirely," said I. Here we both got on our feet, the ground around us being literally covered with killed, and alive with the wounded birds. "See if our facsimiles in the soft mud are not like two punch bowls, Benjie?" And true enough we had made a couple of holes in the spungy soil, that instantly filled with water as we rose, leaving two round pools. "I say, uncle, your punchbowl is somewhat the biggest of the two, though, eh? mine is only the jigger." "Bah!" quoth he, showing his white teeth. But how came Rory on all this while, the hero who had led into action? Right in front of us, half a dozen black spots rested dead still, where his shot had just torn up the sleeping surface of the grey swamp, while as many more waterfowl of some description or another, that had been wounded, were quacking and splashing, and wheeling, half flying, and half running on the water, in a vain attempt to escape from the Macgregor, who, in the enthusiasm of the moment, had dashed in up to his waist to secure the prey. And there he was chasing the wounded birds, all about, every now and then tripping in the weeds, and delving down, nose and ears, under water; whereby he lost his hat and dropped his gun, puffing and snorting all the time with many an outlandish exclamation, and dripping like a water-god. "Never was such a morning's sport," roared the Highlander, "never did I see such pluidy wark in aw my porn days; stalking tae ret tear is nothing to it," as he regained terra firma, with both hands filled with ducks' legs and necks as full as he could gripe; the wounded birds flaffing and flapping, and struggling round him, as if they would have flown away with the wee Hieland body up into the air. By this time I had secured my wounded, and the daylight was fast brightening. "Quacco, my man," said uncle Lathom to the serjeant, as he passed him, "the next time you clap a _bushel_ of shot into my gun, pray don't let it be imperial measure, if you please." "Why," said Twig, who had now joined us, "this is capital sport certainly. Never saw such a flock of teal in my life before--but, Roderick, what have you got there--what sort of game is that you have shot--let me see?" Here he deliberately counted out of the Macgregor's hands eight large _tame_ Muscovy ducks, and a goose. "As I am a sinner," said the poor Highlander, in great dismay when he saw what he had been about, "if I have not killed my own puire tucks; and the vera coose hersell that I expected to eat at Michaelmas. Hoo cam tae here--hoo tae teevil cam tae oot o' the pen?" and he turned a fierce look at his servant. Alas, on reflection, he remembered that the poor old man who was killed by the lightning had been the hen_man_, and no one having taken his place, and the pen having been beaten down by the hail overnight, the sacrifice of the ducks and the poor Michaelmas goose had been the consequence and crowning misfortune.