this time he owned a flock of live decoys that he'd refused as high as
fifteen dollars apiece for. I told all this and a lot more.

When we struck the beach, Clarissa, she took her paint box and umbrella
and mosquito 'intment, and the rest of her cargo, and went off by
herself to "sketch." She was great on "sketching," and the way she'd use
up good paint and spile nice clean paper was a sinful waste. Afore she
went, she give me three fathom of sailing orders concerning taking care
of "James." You'd think he was about four year old; made me feel like a
hired nurse.

James and me went perusing up and down that beach in the blazing sun
looking for something to shoot. We went 'way beyond Lonesome's shanty,
but there wa'n't nobody to home. Lonesome himself, it turned out
afterward, was up to the village with his horse and wagon, and his
daughter Becky was over in the wood on the mainland berrying. Todd was
a cheerful talker, but limited. His favorite remark was: "Oh, I say, my
deah man." That's what he kept calling me, "my deah man." Now, my name
ain't exactly a Claude de Montmorency for prettiness, but "Barzilla" 'll
fetch ME alongside a good deal quicker'n "my deah man," I'll tell you
that.

We frogged it up and down all the forenoon, but didn't git a shot at
nothing but one stray "squawk" that had come over from the Cedar Swamp.
I told James 'twas a canvasback, and he blazed away at it, but missed it
by three fathom, as might have been expected.

Finally, my game leg--rheumatiz, you understand--begun to give out. So
I flops down in the shade of a sand bank to rest, and the reverend goes
poking off by himself.