"ttotes of tbe 1FU0bt 



foundation-stone of the old cabin, and, thinking, 

 began to whistle. It is an accomplishment that I 

 never mastered, and not a creature was charmed. 

 My lips became dry and my cheeks painful, but 

 all in vain. Not even " Auld Lang Syne " could 

 tempt so much as a meadow-mouse, and I gave it 

 up for a far more pleasing pastime. At least I 

 could fancy myself John Watson, and the same 

 old oaks and silent moon gave every opportunity 

 for rebuilding the past. But suddenly all this 

 was stopped by the sound of approaching foot- 

 steps. Last year's leaves were rudely tossed aside, 

 and small twigs were snapped. It was an excit- 

 ing if not anxious moment, and then a dog came 

 trotting into view, more astonished to find me 

 here than I was relieved to have suspense ended. 

 He stopped, he stared, and then, not venturing to 

 pass by, turned as suddenly as he had appeared 

 and bounded into the dark woods. 



Such commonplace conclusions to what prom- 

 ises at the beginning to be an exciting episode do 

 not commend moonlight outings in a long-settled 

 locality. I was somewhat disappointed, and came 

 down to the level of sober fact with the ever 

 present regret that the place was so devoid of ad- 

 venturous features; a regret that was quickly dis- 

 sipated by a shrill whistling, as if its owner were 

 calling the wandering hound that I had just seen. 

 It was not so ordinary a matter, but a long- 

 drawn line of ducks that were speeding toward 

 3* 37 



