SMALL SHOT 217 



great trees, nor woodcock thrid the mazes of the 

 brake, nor trout swim in the shade of the willows. 

 This is the heaviest grief that comes to the man 

 who uses rod and gun, or to him who hunts with- 

 out a gun. Yet some good may come of it, for 

 thereby he may learn to pity his red brother, who 

 loved all these things and suffered greater loss in 

 their passing from his possession. 



IV. THE GOOSE-KILLERS 



THE fable of the youth who killed the goose that 

 laid every day a golden egg for him, has been told 

 by tongue and print so often and for so many years 

 that every one must have heard or read it, but it 

 would seem that few had profited by it when year 

 after year so many go on killing the geese that lay 

 eggs of gold for them. It is no great matter of won- 

 der that the thoughtless and purely selfish should 

 do so foolish a thing, but it is almost past account- 

 ing for that those who are forecasting and prudent 

 in the general affairs of life should be so blind to 

 their interest. 



When the wild geese come honking along the 

 April sky, and wild ducks tarry a little on their 

 journey in waters just unsealed, and snipe drop 

 down on the thawing marshes to rest and feed, 

 and flocks of shore birds skirt the long coast, all on 

 their way to summer homes to lay eggs that would 

 be golden in golden autumn, the goose-killer is in 



