Patches of snow lay upon the ground. The bay,
throbbing with a gentle swell, was somber and dark.
Bobby rowed the old skiff down the bay and past the bird islands near
which he and Jimmy had their adventure on the cliff, but no seals were
to be seen, and presently he turned his attention to the numerous sea
pigeons which were swimming here and there. The young birds were quite
full-grown now, and it was great fun shooting at them and watching them
dive and rise again unharmed, though sometimes one would be just a
fraction of a second too slow and the shot would find it, and then its
downy body would float upon the water, and Bobby would pick it up and
drop it into the boat and turn his attention to another, which might
escape, or might be added to Bobby's bag.
This was exciting sport--so exciting that Bobby could not bring himself
to give it up until a full two hours past noonday, and even then he
would not have done so had not a rising northeast wind created a chop
which made shooting from the skiff so difficult and inaccurate that it
lost its interest.
Then Bobby discovered that he was possessed of a great hunger, and he
ran the skiff ashore on a wooded point, and in a snug hollow in the lee
of a knoll and surrounded by a grove of thick spruce trees, where he was
well sheltered from the keen northeast wind, he lighted a fire, plucked
and dressed one of the fifteen sea pigeons he had secured, and impaling
it upon a stick proceeded to grill it for his dinner.
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