THE RUFFED GROUSE. 113 



city friend; then lie looks at his watch, only to find that 

 he has just time enough to reach the station before the 

 train. He will come again, however, when his dog has 

 been returned from the country; but to-day he wishes 

 someone would kick him for having doubted the boy's 



word. 



To give the beginner an insight into the manner of 

 hunting this bird in September, I will briefly describe 

 a hunt once taken by two "Michiganders," Jim, a 

 farmer, and Ben, my office mate. 



Jim lived a mile out of town. At the time of the 

 hunt I shall describe, he had just received " the best gun 

 in the world," and naturally was anxious to see how it 

 would behave on state occasions. 



Ben worked steadily from morning till night at long 

 columns of figures. In July and August, Jim would 

 occasionally drop in and regale him with stories of 

 newly found broods, or the wonderful peformances of his 

 dog Don, until, in moments of abstraction, each figure 

 seemed a full-fledged grouse, which would in turn be 

 aimed at with the pen. Or, perhaps, when others were 

 taking their vacations, he would look wearily across the 

 alley at the heated brick walls, which would often open 

 under his dreamy gaze, and reveal sylvan retreats in the 

 Eagle Water region, or a white tent near a trout-stream, 

 in some little park of the Rocky Mountains, 



" Where a vision fell, solemn and sweet." 



Then the vision would vanish, and he would say: 

 "Not for me, not for me;" then, with his accustomed 

 energy: "Only wait till the 15th, and I'll show Jim that 

 it isn't all in the gun." 



But the 15th of September found Ben at his desk. 

 Two days later, just as he had decided himself at liberty, 

 the door was vigorously opened, and Jim spoke in his 

 irresistible way: "I was up west yesterday, and found 



