Life on a W^isconsin Farm 



big, blunt-nosed, strong-scented fellows that 

 we were taught to kill just because they nibbled 

 a few grains of corn. I used to hold one while 

 it was still warm, up to Nob's nose for the fun 

 of seeing her make faces and snort at the smell 

 of it; and I would say: "Here, Nob," as if 

 offering her a lump of sugar. One day I offered 

 her an extra fine, fat, plump specimen, some- 

 thing like a little woodchuck, or muskrat, and 

 to my astonishment, after smelling it curiously 

 and doubtfully, as if wondering what the gift 

 might be, and rubbing it back and forth in the 

 palm of my hand with her upper lip, she delib- 

 erately took it into her mouth, crunched and 

 munched and chewed it fine and swallowed it, 

 bones, teeth, head, tail, everything. Not a 

 single hair of that mouse was wasted. When 

 she was chewing it she nodded and grunted, as 

 though critically tasting and relishing it. 



My father was a steadfast enthusiast on 



religious matters, and, of course, attended 



ahnost every sort of church-meeting, especially 



revival meetings. They were occasionally held 



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