The skipper and the engineer were both aboard, grinning with delight from behind the cover. My host's successful deception was regarded by them as a compliment to themselves, for they had built up the fir-grove; consequently their joy was unfeigned. These good fellows were armed with old muzzle-loading English guns, always capped and at full cock, and always held aimed, it seemed, at my head; Prohoroff and I had our more modern weapons and lots of cartridges; the party meant business! Steam was up, however, and we must lose no more time, but be off towards the lake. Past the old Swedish castle we glide and the English cotton mills, and now we are in Ladoga, and hastening, a moving island, towards the middle of the great lake, to the waters wherein the big ducks most do congregate. Very soon Prohoroff sights the first duck community--a hundred of them--peacefully floating and diving a quarter of a mile away. "Ease her!" is the word; then, "Easy ahead;" and slowly and cautiously we glide forward towards our hitherto unsuspecting quarry. It is an exciting moment. I do not know the name of this duck now before us; but he is a huge black fellow, a diver, with white feathers in his wings. And now two hundred yards have been covered, and still we creep on unobserved. Then a very old duck lifts her head and looks at us. "My dears," says she, "did you notice an island about here? I didn't." One or two younger members of the family glance casually at us, their mouths full of food. One says the island has been there all the time; the other rudely enquires who on earth cares whether the old lady noticed the island or not; the island is certainly there now!