
EVENING REVERTES. 9 
3 or 4 feet from the water edge in a bunch 
of flags. Not a ripple had it made on the 
surface in getting there. A cunning bird is 
the black duck. 
I was coming down river one morning, 
after a trip to the big oaks, with a bunch 
of grays and 2 dipper ducks stored away 
under the stern seat. Opposite the mouth 
of the cove I saw a boat drawn up and a fel- 
low running along the bank, apparently 
trying to aim at something hopping in and 
out among the weeds. When I heard the 
report of his gun I went ashore and found 
Lucien wringing the neck of a large sand- 
piper, of the variety 1 have heard called 
teeter-tail. | 
He put the bird in his pocket and sat 
down to talk. Presently I saw the sand- 
piper flutter from his pocket to the ground 
and run groggily along the bank. It had 
gone 25 or 30 yards when Lucien, chancing 
to turn, saw it. © There.is another!” he 
cried, and picking up his gun, fired at and 
missed it. At the report of the gun a gray 
squirrel jumped from a tree near by and 
ran off through the grass. Lucien not 
doubting he had killed the bird went at 
once in pursuit of the quadruped. In a 
few minutes he returned unsuccessful and 
again ran across the sandpiper, which had 
moved quite a distance from where he last 
saw it. This time he made a kill, and pick- 
ing up the bird, he went to get the other 
one he had killed. His surprise at not find- 
ing it became positive flabbergastation 
when he felt in his pocket and discovered 
that of 3 birds shot he had only one to 
show. 
Another experience of my boyhood 
comes back to me as I write. It was while 
I owned the 16 bore. Two boy friends, Syl. 
and Wayland, and I formed what we called 
a trapping and hunting club. As they were 
not allowed to carry guns, they took charge 
of the traps—steel traps, box traps and 
twitch-ups. For miles around, every wood- 
chuck hole, rabbit hole and every crevice 
in the rocks that looked as if used by an 
animal had a trap at its entrance. I carried 
the gun and we wore belts in which were 
stuck lathing hatchets, and butcher knives. 
Every morning we set forth to visit all our 
traps. We had more or less success, usu- 
ally less, in these daily trips throughout the 
warm weather. 
Fall was coming and school was about 
to open. So one morning we decided to 
wind up the season, collect the traps and 
store them until the following year. We 
had nearly completed our round on that 
eventful morning when a yell and a whoop 
from Syl. announced glad tidings. “ Hur- 
rahi? he screamed, =" ve ‘got’ a fox!” 
Rushing up we found him pointing to a 
black and white animal fast in a steel trap. 
Syl. flourished his hatchet and shouted that 
I was not to shoot the fox; it was his and he 
was going to tomahawk it. I recognized 
the animal at once, but not feeling war- 
ranted by such slight acquaintance in intro- 
ducing him to the boys, I remained silent. 
Uttering what was intended for a war- 
whoop, Syl raised the hatchet, but the 
weapon never reached its mark. Before it 
could descend the skunk used his hydro- 
dynamic gun with dire effect. The hatchet 
flew into the air and Syl stood with his eyes 
shut, gasping for breath and making con- 
vulsive gestures like a galvanized frog. 
I shot the skunk and Wayland and I 
started for home carrying the corpse be- 
tween us. Syl followed on behind, rubbing 
his eyes and holding his nose, save when he 
let go to enunciate abusive remarks on us 
and our burden. 
Just as we were entering my yard we met 
my father. Pointing across the field, he 
told us to hustle to the river and throw 
that thing in. We did. 
Syl’s clothes were buried in the garden 
for a fortnight; but for weeks after they 
were resurrected, whenever there was a hot 
fire in the school room stove, a subtle 
aroma stole from them which had the 
power of turning all eyes reproachfully 
upon poor Syl. 
Another time when we were putting out 
some traps and looking after others Syl 
went ahead of us up a little brook to see if 
a certain box trap was all right. Yet, it was 
all right and there was a rabbit in it. Syl 
yanked him out and started back to us 
shouting, 
lve opie lve got. iin 
In crossing the brook he slipped, fell and 
lost his hold on the rabbit, which lit out 
down through the little meadow. Syl forgot 
how fast the rabbit could run and lit out 
after him yelling to us, 
Pe EleaGumimOlny se nStop) sia 
Way and I were so absorbed in watching 
the race we forgot we had the gun and 
shouted to Syl. 
> Gio Ose “iia! 
why don’t you?” 
In about 2 seconds the rabbit reached 
the brush and Syl sauntered sadly back to 
get his hat. 
Those were indeed great days. 
{” 
] 399 
Gatch eainar! 
Sepa Online 
Now the 
noble forest in which we used to hunt has 
fallen before the axe, its beauty is gone, its 
animale die us) extinct: and 1t will be a 
century before other youngsters can en- 
joy the life we once led in and about the 
old “ Eddy ” woods. 
