Neither was Webb's quiet satisfaction agreeable, and Burt mildly
anathematized himself at the thought that he might have had his share in
giving Amy so much pleasure. He took counsel of experience, however, and
having learned that even duck-shooting under the most favorable auspices
palled when contrasted with Amy's smiles and society, he resolved to be
present in the future when she, like Nature, was in a propitious mood.
Impetuous as he was, he had not yet reached the point of love's blindness
which would lead him to press his suit in season and out of season. He soon
found a chance to inform Amy of his regret, but she laughed merrily back at
him as she went up to her room, saying that the air of a martyr sat upon
him with very poor grace in view of his success and persistence in the
sport, and that he had better put a white mark against the day, as she had
done.

Early in the evening Dr. Marvin appeared, with Mr. Marks, one of the most
noted duck-shooters and fishermen on the river, and they brought in three
superb specimens of a rare bird in this region, the American swan, that
queen of water-fowls and embodiment of grace.

"Shot 'em an hour or two ago, near Polopel's Island," said Mr. Marks,
"and we don't often have the luck to get within range of such game. Dr.
Marvin was down visiting one of my children, and he said how he would
like to prepare the skin of one, and he thought some of you folks here
might like to have another mounted, and he'd do it if you wished."

Exclamations of pleasure followed this proposition. Alf examined them
with deep interest, while Burt whispered to Amy that he would rather have
brought her home a swan like one of those than all the ducks that ever
quacked.