176 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 



turned that evening to camp, full of the influences gathered 

 on the heights out of the heavens around us and from the 

 beautiful forest beneath. And although more than two hun- 

 dred years of ancestral Puritan blue blood and teachings flow 

 in my veins and conscience, and the 1 venerated past lifts a 

 very conspicuous finger of warning asto any infringement of 

 Sunday sanctities, I am bold to declare that 1 went to bed 

 that night and slept without a troubled dream from Puritan 

 ancestor or from any other source. 



Monday, while John was doing up the morning's domes 

 tie work, the boy and I struck a bonan/a in a pile of empty 

 fruit-cans, left by some former occupants of our sylvan 

 home. These w r e tossed into the water, and as they floated 

 away before the breeze we practiced on them our skill in 

 rifle-shooting. The "Running Deer" at Creedmoor may 

 be all very well in its way, but give me, for a little exhila- 

 rating sport, rifle-shooting at empty tin-ran* floating out 

 from shore, dancing on the waves, and scudding before Un- 

 wind. "A hit ' a palpable hit !" is indeed palpable, for 

 if you are a good marksman, your tin vessel sinks like an 

 iron-clad, when it is bored through and through. The 

 staid and " muclr-experienced " John was happy to take 

 half a do/en shots with us, and enjoyed demolishing a tin- 

 can with as much delight as Ned himself. 



Then we went to "the marsh. " where, with thelly. 1 look 

 thirty eight trout in about two hours. Of course. I lost my 

 biggest fish " every body does ; but any big !i>h knows 

 how, in a small pool surrounded by lily-pads, to get most 

 completely lost. 



