140 A WEEK ON WALBEN'S BIDGE. 



reserved her voice — soft and musical let us 

 hope — for her husband's ear. 



They had not lived in the house very long, 

 he told me, and he did not know how many 

 years the land had been cleared. There 

 was a fair amount of game in the woods, — 

 turkeys, squirrels, pheasants, and so on, — 

 and in winter the men did considerable 

 hunting. Formerly there were a good many 

 deer, but they had been pretty well killed 

 off. Turkeys still held out. They were 

 gobbling now. His father had been trying 

 for two or three weeks, off and on, to shoot 

 a certain old fellow who had several hens 

 with him down in the valley. His father 

 could call with his mouth better than with 

 any " caller," but so far the bird had been 

 too sharp for him. The son laughed good- 

 naturedly when I confessed to an unsports- 

 manlike sympathy with the gobbler. 



The cabin, built of hewn logs, with clay 

 in the chinks, was neatly furnished, with 

 beds in two corners of the one room, a stone 

 chimney, two doors directly opposite each 

 other, and no window. The doors, it is 

 understood, are always to be open, for venti- 

 lation and light. Such is the custom ; and 



