100 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



"Hello!" said he, "what's this all about?" 



The fellow picked himself up and said: "You know 

 what it's all about, Jim Brockway, and I'll get square on 

 you for it some day, you mind." 



"Why don't you get square with this boy?" said Jim, 

 in a tantalizing manner. "You seem to have had some 

 trouble with him. I don't know what it's about." 



"I'll tell you, Jim," said I; "I killed a turkey and he 

 claims it; there it is, a wild one, and everybody knows 

 that all the tame turkeys about here are white, so't they 

 can tell 'em from wild ones. Come on, Jim; he don't 

 want that turkey now, 'cause he said he was goin' to take 

 it, but he didn't." 



On returning to the house of Uncle Erastus with the 

 turkey, which was doubly mine now, first by right of hav- 

 ing reduced it to possession and again by the gauge of 

 battle, mother at once saw the condition of my hand, now 

 painfully swollen, and, mother-like, wanted to know what 

 had happened. I answered: "Mother, if I should try to 

 tell you just how I injured my hand in shooting a wild 

 turkey the story might get twisted, and I was excited so 

 much that I might be mistaken. Jim will be over to- 

 night. He was there and knows all about it; let him tell 

 it." This must have made her curiosity almost boil over, 

 for there was a mystery, but she was one of those stoical 

 people whose faces never give an indication of either curi- 

 osity, pleasure or pain, so she said: "Very well," and 

 waited. After hearing Jim's version of the turkey hunt 

 she never referred to it afterward. She may have de- 

 tailed the whole affair to father, but when I said, one day 

 after getting home : "Father, I killed a wild turkey out in 

 Michigan," he only asked: "How much did it weigh?" 



My cousin, Mrs. Gilleland, of Adrian, Mich., wrote 

 me a year ago: "William H. is now living at Somerset 



