128 Sporting Sketches 



under the bedclothes, and sit on it to smother its 

 tirade, lest others be needlessly disturbed. 



It was a perfect morning. Through the wide- 

 open window crept the rare breath of summer, 

 a-tremble with bird music and rich with the sweet- 

 ness of garden, orchard, and pine below. One 

 glance at the flaming east told the story, then a 

 plunge into cold water, a scramble into flannel shirt 

 and knickers, a fumble with the other things, and I 

 stole downstairs. I say stole down advisedly. This 

 getting down was ticklish business. On my feet 

 were lacrosse shoes partly for comfort and silence, 

 but chiefly for the sake of the canoe they would 

 shortly be in. One door was hard to pass. One 

 hundred times had I essayed to do it, and exactly 

 one hundred times had I failed. But the rubber 

 soles would fool her I was almost past. 



" That you, my son ? " 



" Yep." 



" Going to dig that bed for me ? so good of 

 you." 



" Yep ; goin'-to-dig-out-right-now." 



" Did you say dig out or out-to-dig ? " 



Then I skipped. 



Did I dig garden ? Sure ! I dug about four 

 yards square, where the worms were good and 

 plenty. Then I snatched a breakfast, gave the dog 

 a bite, packed a snack and fled from the wrath to 

 come ! Not until the good canoe had slid well 

 around the first bend did the wicked cease from 

 paddling. Then the pipe was set going, and Don 

 and I straightened up and Io6ked at each other. 

 He knew the villain ! But she couldn't get either 



