Old October Days in Iowa. 



As I sit by the fire this 

 evening, listening to the 

 song of the crickets, they 

 call up sad yet pleasant 

 memories of the past, and 

 among the sweetest of 

 these are those Indian 

 summer days when I 

 hunted with brother John 

 on the prairies of Iowa. 



After an unusually hard 

 summer in the office I felt 

 the need of rest and recre- 



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ation, so dropped a line 

 to my brother, who was 

 practicing dentistry in the 

 town of E . 



Game was more plenti- 

 ful there then than now, 

 and never again do I ex- 

 pect to enjoy such shoot- 

 ing as I had on that trip, 

 as there are very few 

 places where it could now 



be found. It had been many years since John and I had enjoyed 

 a hunt together, and the evening of my arrival at his home was 

 spent in pleasant reminiscences while I unpacked my trunk 

 and put away my shooting outfit. Though we retired early, it 

 seemed to me that my head had hardly touched the pillow be- 

 fore I heard a noise in the kitchen and the odors that came 

 stealing in my room served notice on me that breakfast was 

 nearly ready. As I rolled over in bed and looked away across 

 the distant fields and prairies, I could imagine the big flocks 



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Hunting with Brother John. 



