202 PORTRAITS IN INK 



imparts to you his small discoveries, a poor but 

 hospitable host sharing his meager fare with a 

 hungry wayfarer. 



You may find him just returned from a stolen 

 half-day's excursion, rejoicing over a lucky shot, 

 never claiming it to be more, and he relates with 

 the particulars of circumstance and place, the 

 finding of his grouse and how he brought it down, 

 as it whirred and clattered almost unseen in the 

 haze of brush. When you desire a sight of the 

 finest bird he ever killed, he bashfully confesses 

 that he left it at a sick neighbor's on his way home 

 (a mile out of it though), but as he knew the sick 

 man would not care he stuck one of the tail feathers 

 in his hat, and this he displays with great satis- 

 faction. He sticks it up on the wall beside the 

 dried head of a big bass and the plumy tail of a 

 gray squirrel, and you know by the far-away look 

 in his eyes that it will need but a glance at these 

 when the days of toil are long unbroken to conjure 

 up the pleasant, restful loneliness of the woods, the 

 glint of clear waters and the music of their voices. 



He does not consort much with men in his out- 

 ings, but of choice with boys, whom he delights to 

 instruct in woodcraft and the mysteries of the 

 gentle art. He baits the small boys' hooks with 

 infinite care and unhooks the horned pouts and 

 thorny-backed perch for them, untangles lines 

 and recovers snagged hooks for them; he mends the 



