154 Life of a Fossil Hunter 



lake's lovely shores. Its wide expanse of water put 

 me in mind of my boyhood days on Otsego Lake or 

 the Glimmer-glass. 



We soon reached the hospitable home of Mr. 

 Duncan, the postmaster of Silver Lake. He had 

 built a comfortable house of logs, with a large 

 chimney at one end and an old-fashioned fireplace, 

 around which, as the nights were cold, we gathered 

 and talked until far into the night. 



Mr. Duncan's family consisted of his wife and 

 daughter, a dear, good girl, who will forgive me, I 

 am sure, if I tell a story at her expense. George 

 and I were sent to bed in a lean-to, and as our bed- 

 room was next to that of the Duncans and the stop- 

 pings had fallen out of some of the chinks in the 

 wall between, we could hear everything that was 

 said in their room. In the middle of the night I 

 woke up and heard the old gentleman talking to his 

 wife about their daughter. 



" Mother," he said, " I think John will be a good 

 husband for Mary, don't you ? " 



Before she could answer, Mary, who had a bed 

 at the other end of the parents' room, called out 

 with great energy, " I think so too, father ! " 



In an instant all was still, while George and I, in 

 our efforts to keep quiet, stuffed the bedclothes into 

 our mouths until we were almost suffocated. 



We unloaded our weary pack horse, and the next 



