“See,” said Johnny, triumphantly; and lifting his jacket, he displayed, to Pat’s astonished gaze, the form of a duck. “A duck!” cried Pat, with a shout. “Where did you get it?” “H-s-s-s-s-h!” said Johnny, warningly. “I caught it.” “Caught it?” “Yes, with a fish-hook. I trailed the hook, baited with a bit of bread, and the duck bit--and here he is.” “We’ll cook him!” cried Pat. “That’s it; but we’d better get away where they won’t see us.” “Sure nobody ‘ll see us here, at all, at all.” “Won’t they?” “Surely no. There’s lots of wood here, an’ I’ll start the fire in a jiffy. Come along. Hurroo, boys!” So Pat and Johnny set the fire going, and then they picked the duck,---which was previously killed, of course,--and they had him all ready to lay on the coals, when suddenly, their attention was arrested by a low, muffled, piteous squeal close by them behind the wood-pile. “H-s-s-s-s-h!” said Johnnie. “Botheration!” said Pat, hiding the duck under a log of wood. “What is it?” said Johnnie. “Sure it’s a pig--that’s what it is,” said Pat. A rustle was heard now in the bushes, and then Sammy walked out from behind the wood-pile. His face had a bright expression of satisfaction, and he, too, had something under his arm. “It’s another duck!” said Pat, with a wild laugh. “Sammy’s been out fishin’, too,” and he went off into a peal of laughter. “Stop your noise,” said Sammy. “I thought you were somebody else, and that’s why I had to come through the trees, and behind the wood-pile.” “Is it a duck ye’ve got, thin?” asked Pat. “Sure, haven’t we one oursilves?” Sammy said nothing, but drawing his jacket aside, showed the little white head and twinkling eyes of a pig of very small size--a roaster, in fact, in excellent condition. “It’s a pig ye’ve got. Didn’t I know the squale of it? Didn’t I say it was? It’s me that knows the voice of a pig. Hurroo, boys! we’re goin’ to have a banquet, so we are. Where did ye get it, thin, Sammy, jewel?” “Don’t talk so loud,” said Sammy, looking cautiously all around. “They’ll hear you.” “It’s mum I’ll be, thin. But where did ye get it, darlin’?” said Pat, in a soft, coaxing whisper. “Up there.” “Where? Pratt’s?” “No.” “Where thin?” “O, never mind. It wasn’t near any house. It was in a field. There were a dozen of them; and I was so hungry I couldn’t help it.” “Faith, thin we may as well have the young roaster as the old pork,” said Pat. “Ye’re well here. We’re in luck this day. See here.” And he pulled out the duck and showed it to Sammy. “How nicely you’ve picked it and fixed it!” said he. “I wish we could manage the pig. I don’t know what to do with it.” “Many’s the pig I’ve kilt,” said Pat, loftily. “Have you then? And will you do this one?” “Will I do it? Faith, it’s me that will,” said Pat. “But won’t he squeal?” “Squale is it? Not a squale you’ll hear.”