A MARMOT'S CURIOSITY. 169 



herself towards home. Curiosity, however, 

 proved her undoing. At eighty yards she paused 

 and, like Lot's wife, looked back. Kerchug, the 

 second bullet took her just behind the ear and 

 her final trip to the clover field had been re- 

 corded. 



Just now I am seated on a point at the edge 

 of that same field with the pioneer homestead 

 of a marmot within six feet of my back. From 

 it several pathways, as well worn as any made 

 by sheep, lead down the slope. Along these the 

 family a-hunting and a-visiting go. On my way 

 here I took a shot at a moving youngster who 

 was returning from a call on his grandfather. 

 It missed him by a foot. "What a rollicking 

 sailor-like gait he assumed as the bullet whined 

 by his head. Into a hole on the level, some 

 forty yards below me he plunged, and I am wait- 

 ing for curiosity to get the better of his caution. 



The pathway down which I came to the clover 

 field leads, for much of the way, alongside an 

 old rail fence. This in time is replaced by one of 

 slats and wire. Large sassafras trees, some of 

 them a foot and more in diameter, stand along 

 or close to the line and over them the wild 

 grapes clamber and form many a covert for the 

 thrashers and the catbirds. Wild cherry, hack- 

 berry, walnut, butternut, and various other trees 

 of small size have found protection within the 



