45§ 



RECREATION. 



we had a little side show of our own on the 

 front seat. 



The second seat was occupied by Mr. 

 Stanton — an instructor in Cornell Univers- 

 ity — and his famous " 'coon dog," Lead. 

 The last seat of our surrey held Mr. Stan- 

 ley, a student from California, who is the 

 hero of a thrilling adventure in the Rock- 

 ies. Stanley claims to have routed a band 

 of robbers; but his companion told me, 

 confidentially, Stanley pulled his gun and 

 looked for desperadoes after he had been 

 relieved of his watch and purse, and when 

 the train was under way and well rid of the 

 highwaymen. Beside the hero, I sat, a 

 quiet, unpretentious fellow, who does not 

 boast much, but knows a few things about 

 'coons and dogs, nevertheless. 



This was our party, and we arrived in 

 due time at a farm house, near the grounds 

 where the game had been sighted. Here 

 the hound was loosed, and he soon found 

 a trail, which led us a merry chase for half 

 an hour; and if there was one brier-patch 

 or wind-fall through which this coon did 

 not take us, the county map does not show 

 it. 



The fat man and the skeleton fought for 

 second place to me, for I led the chase and 

 carried the lantern. Our California friend 

 brought up the rear, with Stanton a length 

 ahead of him. Though the pace was a kill- 

 ing one, all went well until the Skeleton 

 got his feet tangled in a hole, and the fat 

 man fell squarely on top of poor Walter, 

 who set up such an unearthly wail that our 



friend from the woolly West imagined a 

 panther was after him, and crouched in 

 fear, with gun at full cock, ready to defend 

 himself if necessary. A halt of 2 minutes 

 brought the lean man around, so he could 

 join the chase. 



We soon caught up to the dog, barking 

 at the foot of a half-grown hemlock. A 

 careful search revealed a dark object, away 

 up near the top of the tree. Everybody 

 wanted to see the fat man climb, but he 

 complained of a sore stomach, from his fall 

 on Walter; so it was decided Stanley should 

 shoot at the dark object, to see if it were 

 alive. He aimed his little 16-bore Ithaca 

 hammerless, and with the report, down 

 came a 23-pound 'coon. 



Another hour passed, without a find, 

 when suddenly Lead struck a hot trail, in 

 a buckwheat field. Away he went, filling 

 the air with the music so sweet to the hunt- 

 er's ear. The chase was a short one, and 

 we soon recognized the old dog's " bark 

 up." He was in an adjoining pasture, try- 

 ing to climb an elm tree, in which the full 

 moon showed us 3 small, round objects. 

 With 3 cracks of the Ithaca, as many young 

 'coons bit the dust. 



These, we were sure, were the ones we 

 had seen a few days before, and the game 

 we were after. Now, out of pity for the fat 

 man, who was pretty well warmed up and 

 blowing hard, we turned toward town. The 

 following evening we all met at the " Ori- 

 ental," and enjoyed a bountiful spread, in 

 which baked 'coon was much in evidence. 



PIERRE'S STRATAGEM. 



H. D. LEADBETTER. 



" 'Twas one dark night on Lack Champlain, an' de win' 



she blow, blow, blow ; 

 An' de crew o' de wood-scow, Julia Le Plant, got scare 



an' run below. 

 For de win' she blow like a hurrycan ; bam-bye she 



blow sum more. 

 Dat scow buss up on Lack Champlain, 'bout half male 



from de shore." 



As the words of the old song rang out, 

 in the peculiar accents of the French Cana- 

 dian, over the blue waters of Missisqui 

 bay (an arm of Lake Champlain extending 

 into Canada), the flat bottom of a fishing- 

 boat grated on the sandy beach, and the 

 singer, a tall, well-built young fellow, 

 sprang lightly to the shore. Carefully pull- 

 ing his boat out of reach of the waves, he 

 removed the oars and hid them in a clum-j 

 of pines. 



He was evidently dressed in his " Sun- 

 day best," and he carefully adjusted his 



high celluloid collar and sky-blue tie. Then 

 taking a pair of yellow kid gloves, wrapped 

 in a paper, from the boat, he laboriously 

 put them on. 



" I wonder w'at Marie will t'ink of dem 

 glove," he murmured, holding up his hands 

 and gazing at them admiringly. " G'ess 

 she t'ink Pierre Le Clair some punkin 

 now." 



Throwing up his head, he settled the flat- 

 topped derby hat more to one side, twisted 

 his mustache to a wisp at either end, walked 

 rapidly to the little cottage on the hill, and 

 knocked at the door. 



" How do, Pierre," said the little, with- 

 ered old woman who opened the door; 

 " come rat in. Dere's man here w'at 

 wants hunt de duck on de lack. She's go- 

 in' board here an' wants mans to row de 

 boat. I tole him dat Pierre he know all 



