"TROUT TICKLING" 317 



hare's trail. This time I had a hard run for it, but 

 my youthful legs were swifter than the hare's, handi- 

 capped as she was with snowdrifts. Catching her and 

 wrapping her once more in my jacket, I carried her 

 back to the house. There was no compunction or hesi- 

 tation on my father's part now. He promptly killed 

 the hare, and the quiet tip was given to a few of his 

 friends, and invitations to the feast were extended and 

 accepted with the greatest secrecy. I was the hero of 

 the hour, and whether my grandfather ever knew how 

 or why I deserved my heroic honors I cannot say. It 

 matters little now, for he has lain in his grave for 

 more than two score years, but this I can say, that the 

 hare and the chase and the lecture and the game sup- 

 per and the big snowstorm — all are locked in the coffer 

 of my memory and tight enough to stay there. 



