CHAN NEON CALTL Si VIN THE OA STS. 
out of the water and hung him on the limb 
Of a tree that stood im front of our tent; 
and, later, as we were changing our 
clothes, Bones pointed to the fish with his 
pipe-stem and whispered to me, “Io 
pounds.” 
A minute later he glared at me, over the 
dripping coat he held from him at arm’s 
length: © 
“Ten pounds,’ he shouted. “To be ex- 
act, 10 pounds 2 ounces. I'll expect you 
to verify the figures, so don’t get them 
confused in your mind, please.” 
While lighting the camp-fire I thought 
how proudly Bones would tell the boys 
about the fight, and I made up my mind to 
go as high as 4 pounds on the weight of 
that fish, since we had no scales with us. 
Bones was whistling now—whi ‘ling “The 
Sunshine of Paradise Alley.” Possibly the 
fish might be heavier than it looked. Ap- 
pearances are deceptive; so I determined 
to make it an even 5 pounds; but farther 
than that I would not go. No, not even 
for Bones—dear Bones, who could bake a 
catfish brown and serve him up with a 
dressing of tomato sauce much too good 
for any king. 
Across the valley a flock of crows were 
flying slowly toward an old lightning- 
scarred and weather-beaten tree that stood 
on the summit of a rocky bluff, with its 
leafless branches, gnarled and broken, out- 
lined against the sky. The river, wrapt 
now in the somber shades of evening, 
ceased to divide the landscape with a sil- 
very thread. The weird and melancholy 
cry of a night-hawk proclaimed the silent 
approach of a summer night. From the 
background of our camp came a murmur- 
ine sound, sweet and low, like trickling 
waters flowing from a crystal spring. It 
came again—louder now, and sweet as the 
babbling of a hidden brook. 
I turned around, and there stood Bones. 
ye 
with his feet planted wide apart, his right 
arm extended skyward, and the liquid con- 
tents of =a. long)» black “bottle |) slowly. 
pouring down the unknown depths of his 
elongated neck. The slight noise I made 
attracted his attention. He lowered the 
bottle and stood regarding me in an un- 
certain sort of way, as though he had for- 
gotten something. Presently his face 
lighted up with a ray of intelligence. He 
shifted the bottle from one hand to the 
On 
“Dear friend,” he said, in jerky tones, 
and described a wavering semi-circle in the 
air with his long right arm, “This is an 
Oasis—an oasis in the dreary, burning 
sands of business strife; the one bright 
and fertile spot in the boundless desert. of 
co1..nercial cares. Look on yonder hill, 
where the last rays of the evening twilight 
linger. There stands a cottage, prim and 
white, reflecting from its upper windows 
the red glow of the departed sun. That 
is the abode of an honest tiller of the soil. 
What cares he for the troubles of this 
world? Notwithstanding commercial dis- 
aster, his crops will ripen during the long, 
days of summer. Financial panics do not 
prevent the fattening of his flocks on the 
green grass of the meadow.” 
The flames shot up through the pile of 
driftwood, throwing out a light that made 
Bones’ sallow face look ghostly. “It is to 
this oasis,” he said, “that we come when 
overburdened with care. Here we bury 
all our troubles in an unmarked grave. In 
this oasis Pa 
“Bones,” I said, reaching out my hand 
toward him; “Bones, old boy, you are not 
exactly drunk, but you are most comfort- 
ably loaded. Hand me that bottle, please 
I desire, with the remaining moisture it 
contains, to lay the foundation for a sec- 
C 
tion of oasis that { can call my own.”’ 

OCTOBER. 
AS Tne Tet 
The hunter with dogs and with gun hies 
away 
To the woodland and meadow and over 
the hills; 
When he sums up, he’finds at the close 
of each day 
A big lot of misses compared with his 
kills. 
