CHAPTER XXX. 

 uz GAUNT'S TALK ABOUT TURTLES. 



" CHEISTMAS of '77 was a green one, you may remem- 

 ber," remarked Uz, as he shook the ashes from his pipe. 

 " It didn't need any hickory logs blazin' on the hearth, 

 such as these," and he stirred the ashes and rearranged 

 the wood on the andirons as he spoke of them. " The 

 weather had been mild for a long time, and once I heard 

 frogs singin'. Well, this kind of thing sort of came to a 

 focus on Christmas day, which was warm even in the 

 shade. The river was low, the meadows dry, and the 

 crows as noisy as in April. I felt sort of restless like, 

 and took a walk in the meadows. I left my gun home, 

 and thought I'd just look 'round. "Without thinking of 

 them when I started out, I wandered over to your marshy 

 meadow, and began pokin' about with my cane for snap- 

 pers. You know I take kindly to a bowl of snapper-soup 

 of my own fixin'." 



" Yes, I do that, and can run along neck-and-neck with 

 you, when you're the cook." 



" Well, I followed the main ditch down, jumpin' from 

 hassock to hassock, and kept probin' in the mud with 

 my cane, when, after a bit, I felt something hard at the 

 end of my stick. It wasn't a stone or a stump, I knew 

 at once. There was a little tremble run up the stick to 

 my hand that told me that much. A sort of shake, as 





