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"Yep. They're in a can in my pocket. Did Croaker come back?" he inquired, as the two made their way down the path. "Bet ye I am." A little later they went back up the road, side by side. Ringdo having heard the call of the forest-creek had strayed into the tangle, perhaps hoping to find a fat frog which had not yet sought its winter sleeping-bog. They paused to watch a red squirrel flash along the zig-zag fence and halt, with twitching tail, as the chatter of the black he was pursuing came down to him from swaying hickory tree-top. High overhead a flock of crows passed silently, black hurtling bodies seeming to brush the grey, low hanging skies as they melted into distance. High above, the shrill whistle of wings told of wild ducks seeking the marshes and the celery beds of the bay. "But that's shure the ould man's secret, Billy," pleaded Harry. "It's not a foine chap as ye are would be wheedlin' it out av me, now?".