irn tbe Moobs witb tbe 3Bow 



clashing medleys. Jarvis, finding out (in 

 spite of my best efforts to conceal it) that 

 I preferred solitude to company, cooked a 

 simple breakfast every morning before sun- 

 rise and went to his work. I often heard 

 his ax or saw ringing merrily as I crept 

 silently through the woods and copses, or 

 sat at the foot of some noble tree to reflect 

 and make notes. Once he came upon me 

 asleep at noonday, my bow and quiver 

 leaning against the huge bole of a white 

 oak, the buttressed root of which served 

 my head for pillow. His heavy footfalls 

 awoke me, and my first glimpse of him 

 connected him vaguely with a half-remem- 

 bered fantastic dream of Arcadia, satyrs, 

 and fluting, goatskin-mantled youths. In 

 a word, I had been reading Theocritus, 

 according to an unalterable habit, when 

 slumber shut down upon me. The little 

 dog-eared book was to Jarvis a mystery. 

 He could read, but '' thet air do not 'pear 

 like nothin* to me," he said. It was, in- 

 deed, Greek to him. 



A pirogue, the most skittish craft that 

 ever danced on water, was placed at my 

 228 



