MIXUP WITH THE LAUGHERS 211 



" Where are they feeding? " 



"West." 



There followed a muffled conversation, but I 

 knew what it was. Andy was breaking it to his 

 father the commander-in-chief of many of our 

 expeditions into the goose-grounds then: 



" It's too wet to stack to-morrow; meet us at 

 the cemetery at four in the morning. The kid 

 and I will be there." 



At a quarter past two next morning, 

 the clamorous din of my lusty alarm clock, re- 

 verberating through the tent, disturbed the night 

 silence, also several white-footed mice and 

 called me from slumber and the warm blankets. 

 Booohrrr! that atmosphere was frigid, but soon 

 the little chip stove was puffing merrily, and 

 breakfast ready. When a wondrously large 

 potful of oatmeal porridge the same that had 

 simmered two hours or more on the embers the 

 previous evening and some bacon and eggs had 

 been stowed away below, I was ready for the 

 road. 



About three o'clock I shouldered my traps 

 and struck off afoot in the darkness. The traps 

 were no small item either, for in addition to the 

 six-pound kodak and its accessories, I had a 



