BEATING THE SPRINGS AND THE WOOD. 131 



unrivalled veteran. At last, when he had made 

 his seven brace without missing a single shot, 

 or wounding a single bird, we gave him a 

 cheer, led off by Jack Sullivan, who could no 

 longer contain his enthusiasm, as he shouted, 

 " The master for ever ! agin the whole of yiz," 

 and he looked in with an interrogative and 

 rather warlike air at Bill Sliney. 



" Tom Walshe sometimes draws the ice off 

 his ponds, Jack," said Joe to his assistant. 



" Yes, sir, an' as he did last night, there 

 mebbe a spot for the duck on 'em, yer honour." 



" Just what I was thinking, Jack." 



Tom Walshe's ponds are situate between the 

 hollows of a heather-covered hill. It is requisite 

 to walk very deftly and silently towards them. 



My uncle calls a halt, and assigns to us our 

 different routes of approach ; no one is to put 

 up his head to look at the pond until Joe 

 whistles. 



The manoeuvres are executed with discretion, 

 but result in nothing. The ponds are com- 

 pletely frozen, and there is no sign of a living 

 thing near them. 



" Well, better luck elsewhere, boys. Jack, 



K 2 



