WITH THE WADERS 



THE 12th of October was a day. There are 

 few like it in our Massachusetts calendar. 

 And by a stroke of good fortune I had 

 chosen it for a trip to Eagle Hill, on the 

 North Shore. All things were near per- 

 fection ; the only drawbacks to my enjoy- 

 ment being a slight excess of warmth and 

 an unseasonable plague of mosquitoes. 



" Yes, it is too fine," said the stable-keeper, 

 who drove me down from the railroad sta- 

 tion. " It won't last. It 's what we call a 

 weather breeder." 



" So be it," thought I. Just then I was 

 not concerned with to-morrow. Happy men 

 seldom are. The stable-keeper spoke more 

 to the purpose when he told me that during 

 the recent storm a most exceptional number 

 of birds had been driven in. A certain gun- 

 ner, Cy Somebody, had shot twenty-odd dol- 

 lars' worth in one day. " There he is now," 



