62 jock's lake. 



victories ovei\tlie aristocratic ''diamond, " and the mathe- 

 matically impossible came to "pass,"— one counted more 

 than ten, and to this magic quality even royalty and knavery 

 succumbed. The Neophyte,— an inveterate keeper of a 

 diary,— by the same tallow-dip, with a cracker box for a 

 taljle, was writing up his notes for the day, and gathering 

 up the little odds and ends that, woven together, make up 

 the warp and woof of forest life in camp. 



But the longest and jolliest evening in the woods, as well 

 as out, at last brings bed-time, be the couch that of luxury 

 or the bed of boughs. 



Some hours after, I half awoke, and by the dim light of 

 a flickering and sleepy candle saw Benson, all wet and 

 dripping, with slouched hat and long, rubber overcoat 

 shining with moisture, holding his gun in his hands, and 

 standing just within the door; and by his side stood Horace 

 with a deer flung across his shoulders, the legs drawn around 

 his neck like a huge, fantastic necktie. In an instant every 

 one of us was wide-awake, and while the rain was beating 

 in torrents upon the rude bark-roof of our hut, Benson, 

 while removing his coat and l)oots and concocting a reviv- 

 ing punch, began his story: 



"Well, boys, we've got him— sure! But wliat a time 

 we've had! \"ou see, it was as dark as ten pockets lioiled 

 down into one when we got to the foot of the lake. 

 You couldn't see a thing. We thought we wouldn't light 

 up, for there was no telling but we might scare every deer 

 in the neighborhood. So we floundered along, keep- 

 ing near the stream, guided by the sound of the water and 



