CHAPTER IV. 



THE DOCTOR'S STORY A SLIPPERY FISH A LAWSUIT AND A 

 COMPROMISE. 



THERE seems to be a law, or rather a habit pertaining to 

 forest life, into which every one falls, while upon excursions 

 such as ours. Stories occupy the place of books, and tales 

 of the marvellous furnish a substitute for the evening papers. 

 Not that there should be any set rule or system, hi regard 

 to the ordering of the matter, but a sort of spontaneous 

 movement, an implied understanding, growing out of the 

 necessities of the position of isolation occupied by those who 

 are away from the resources of civilization. The doctor 

 had a genius for story telling, or rather a genius for inven- 

 tion, which required only a moderate development of the 

 organ of credulity on the part of his hearers, to render him 

 unrivalled. There was an appearance of frank earnestness 

 about his manner of relating his adventures, which, however 

 improbable or even impossible as matter of fact they might 

 be, commanded, for the moment, absolute credence. 



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