In accordance with their hospitable ways, the Cliffords soon had the
doctor and Mr. Marks seated by their fireside, and the veteran sportsman
was readily induced to enlarge upon some of his experiences.

He had killed two of the swans, he told them, as they were swimming, and
the other as it rose. He did not propose to let any such uncommon
visitors get away. He had never seen more than ten since he had lived in
this region. With the proverbial experience of meeting game when without
a gun, he had seen five fly over, one Sunday, while taking a ramble on
Plum Point.

"Have you ever obtained any snow-geese in our waters?" Dr. Marvin asked.

"No. That's the scarcest water-fowl we have. Once in a wild snowstorm I
saw a flock of about two hundred far out upon the river, and would have
had a shot into them, but some fellows from the other side started out
and began firing at long range, and that has been my only chance. I
occasionally get some brant-geese, and they are rare enough. I once saw a
flock of eight, and got them all-took five out of the flock in the first
two shots--but I've never killed more than twenty-five in all."

"I don't think I have ever seen one," remarked Mrs. Clifford, who, in her
feebleness and in her home-nook, loved to hear about these bold,
adventurous travellers. They brought to her vivid fancy remote wild
scenes, desolate waters, and storm-beaten rocks. The tremendous endurance
and power of wing in these shy children of nature never ceased to be
marvels to her. "Burt has occasionally shot wild-geese--we have one
mounted there--but I do not know what a brant is, nor much about its
habits," she added.