130 ON THE UPPER ST. JOHN'S. 



Farther along, in the highway, a sandy 

 track, with wastes of scrub on either side, 

 a boy of eight or nine, armed with a double- 

 barreled gun, was lingering about a patch 

 of dwarf oaks and palmettos. " Have n't 

 got that rabbit yet, eh?" said I. (I had 

 passed him there on my way out, and he 

 had told me what he was after.) 



" No, sir," he answered. 



" I don't believe there 's any rabbit there." 



" Yes, there is, sir ; I saw one a little 

 while ago, but he got away before I could 

 get pretty near." 



" Good ! " I thought. " Here is a gram- 

 marian. Not one boy in ten in this country 

 but would have said ' I seen.' " A scholar 

 like this was worth talking with. " Are 

 there many rabbits here ? " I asked. 



" Yes, sir, there 's a good deal." 



And so, by easy mental stages, I was 

 clear of the swamp and back in the town, 

 saved from the horrible, and delivered 

 to the commonplace and the dreary. 



My best days in Sanford were two that I 

 spent on the river above the lake. A youth- 

 ful boatman, expert alike with the oar and 

 the gun, served me faithfully and well, 



