A WORD AT THE START. 13 



When I first met him he was about seventy years old, 

 and ten years later he appeared no older. Had he not 

 been bent and disabled, finally, from severe rheumatic 

 attacks, I doubt if any one could have guessed his age. 

 His hair remained dark and thick, his forehead showed 

 few wrinkles, his eye was as bright and piercing, at the 

 last, as when, a score of years ago, he would point out 

 the green head of a mallard in the tall grass and bid me 

 shoot. Often I would fire on faith, not able to detect 

 anything but the waving grass wherein he saw a cunning 

 mallard hiding. 



Uz was the happy owner of a few acres, most of which 

 were not arable. The five acres that immediately sur- 

 rounded his house were shut in from the world by a 

 swampy tract that remained undisturbed. Tempting of- 

 fers were made for the valuable timber that grew upon 

 it. but Uz had enough to meet his wants, and turned a 

 deaf ear to all who suggested his parting with the trees. 

 " They were my only companions when a child," he once 

 remarked to me, " and I could not part with them now. 

 I'm not chicken-hearted, that I know of, but to sell those 

 trees would be like selling my own flesh and blood. 

 They are a part of my life now, and my sister and I make 

 out to live on the little patches of cleared land about the 

 house. No, so long as I live I want the trees to keep 

 me company." 



" Then it is from the fact that you played all day un- 

 der these trees that you became a naturalist," I suggested 

 at the time. 



li Yes, you hit it there. Of course, I went a bit 

 to school, and father had two or three books which 

 I read in a little, but my learnin' came from out- 

 doors. Why, the birds seemed to know me after a 

 while, and I gained their good-will by lettin' 'em alone. 



