So the two boys walked off, taking with them a couple of bags. Max also
thought it wise to shoulder the reliable old shotgun.

"It isn't the game season, I know," he said, as the others looked their
surprise, "and about the only thing we ought to shoot right now would be
woodcock. I saw a marsh where I reckon I'll find some of the long-billed
mud diggers. You know they get their food by sticking their bills deep down
in the mud. That's why you always look for woodcock in a wet spot or marsh.
Ready, Steve? All right, we'll make another start."

About twenty minutes later the two boys had reached the bank of the little
river, half a mile or so above their first camp site.

They lost no time, but set to work at once, removing shoes and socks, and
rolling the legs of their trowsers above their knees.

Then, with selected, sharp-pointed sticks, after wading into the shallow
water, they began to poke carefully around in all such promising places as
mussels would most likely be found.

Steve gave the first triumphant cry.

"I've got one, Max! And say, he's just a jim-dandy big fellow, too, believe
me! Now, I wonder if he's going to present us with the mate of that little
beauty of a pearl we lost so queerly."

Max was watching his chum closely.

"He says that just as naturally as if he meant every word of it," the boy
muttered; puzzled more than ever; and then raising his voice he went on to