ged upon it were some fifty cartridges and an old-fashioned fat
opera-glass. This, then, was Monsieur le Cure's duck-blind, or rather,
in French, his _gabion_.

The live decoys began quacking nervously. The cure, about to speak,
tip-toed over to the firing-slit and let down cautiously one of its
compartments.

"A flight of plovers passing over us," he remarked. "Yes, there they go.
If the wind will only hold you shall see--there will be ducks in," his
gray eyes beaming at the thought.

Then he drew the chair away from the firing-slit and seated himself,
facing me.

"If you knew," he began, "how much it means to me to talk to one of the
outside world--your country--America! You must tell me much about it. I
have always longed to see it, but----" He shrugged his shoulders
helplessly. "Are you warm?" he asked.

"Warm?" I laughed. "I never felt better in my life." And I thanked him
again for his kindness to a stranger in distress. "A stranger in luck,"
I added.

"I saw you at mass this morning," he returned bending over, his hands on
his knees. "But you are not a Catholic, my friend? You are always
welcome to my church, however, remember that."

"Thank you," I said. "I like your little church, and--I like you,
Monsieur le Cure."

He put forth his hand. "Brother sportsmen," he said. "It _is_ a
brotherhood, isn't it? You are a Protestant, is it not so?" And his
voice sank to a gentle tone.

"Yes, I am what they call a blue Presbyterian."

"I have heard of that," he said. "'A _blue_ Presbyterian.'" He repeated
it to himself and smiled. Suddenly he straightened and his finger went
to his lips.

"Hark!" he whispered. "Hear their wings!"

Instantly the decoys set up a strenuous quacking. Then again all was
silent.

"Too high," muttered the cure. "I do not expect much in before the late
afternoon. Do you smoke?"

"Yes, gladly," I replied, "but my cigarettes are done for, I am afraid;
they were in the pocket of my hunting coat."

"Don't move," he said, noticing my effort to rise. "I've got
cigarettes." And he fumbled in the shadow of the narrow shelf.

I had hardly lighted my own over the candle-flame, which he held for me,
when I felt a gentle rocking and heard the shells rattle as they rolled
to the end of the shelf, stop, and roll back again.

"Do not be alarmed," he laughed, "it's only the water filling the outer
jacket of my _gabion_. We shall be settled and steady in a moment, and
afloat for the night.