OLD HOMESTEAD 



a leader of other boys in their plays, and particularly in getting 

 them into mischief. With us this office was held by Monroe 

 Fox. He was always jolly and good-natured. It was easy 

 enough for him to see how to get the other boys into a scrape 

 and keep out himself, which he generally did. 



One day the Fox boys — Leander, Leroy and Monroe — with 

 John and myself, were sitting on the bank of the road by the 

 lower orchard in a sort of committee of the whole, discussing 

 various questions, particularly those of heroism and notorious 

 exploits in which we had been or felt competent to engage. 

 Just then William Barton came along from the direction of Mr. 

 Fox's house. He had an old sorrel, white-faced horse hitched 

 to the old family buggy with a high back, a very ancient institu- 

 tion. In the back of the buggy lay a branch of blueberries 

 which he had picked from a bush that grew near the little gulf. 



What put it into his head God only knows, but Monroe called 

 to me, " Henry, I bet that you dasn't grab that bush of blue- 

 berries out of Mr. Barton's buggy when he comes along." I 

 denied the insinuation, and told him I would show him what I 

 dared do. Mr. Barton came along on a slow jog trot, and when 

 just fairly opposite us I made a dart from the side of the road 

 and grabbed the bush from his buggy. It was a fatal mistake, 

 however brave the deed. The next thing I heard was the hiss 

 of the old woodchuck whiplash as it cut the air and wound 

 around my face. It was about five and one-half feet long, of 

 woodchuck skin, home-made, braided with a big belly in the 

 middle, and attached to a hickory whip-stock about four feet 

 long and strong enough to send it with any force which the man 

 at the butt was capable of exerting. It took me a little by sur- 

 prise, and when he gave it a jerk to unwind it and untangle me, 

 he stopped his horse, and, turning to me, slowly, coolly and 



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