4 S2 



RECREATION. 



THE REASON. 



CHAS. E. SCOFIELD. 



There had been a light fall of snow dur- 

 ing the night. W'hen the morning broke, 

 crisp and frosty, and the air tingled with 

 the delicious vigor of a December morn- 

 ing, the soul of the druggist revolted in 

 him at the thought of the day's dull routine. 

 He yearned for the sights and sounds of 

 the great outdoor ; so when, a few moments 

 later, Cottontail George, the most confirmed 

 and inveterate rabbit hunter along the Min- 

 nesota river, came in and announced that 

 there were fresh rabbit tracks by the thou- 

 sand all over the bottoms and that he pro- 

 posed to follow some of them to their logi- 

 cal conclusion, the idea was eagerly taken 

 up by the druggist. Soon they were comb- 

 ing the bunnies out of the brush heaps and 

 patches of weeds along the river banks. 

 They ate their lunch on foot ; and finally, 

 when their bulging game pockets and the 

 declining sun of the short December day, 

 warned them that it was time to strike for 

 home, they found themselves 10 miles from 

 town, very hungry and more tired. The 

 druggist proposed that they turn their steps 

 toward Odessa, which was only 3 or 4 miles 

 distant, have supper there and take the 

 afternoon freight up to Ortonville. Cotton- 

 tail George was only too willing, for he 

 longed for something hot. 



Alas for the frailty of human hopes ! As 

 the weary hunters pulled into the outskirts 

 of the town, the freight pulled out ! That 

 meant either a 6-mile walk through a gath- 

 ering storm, or an 8-hour wait for the 

 night mail train.. A surprisingly short can- 

 vass of the situation brought them to the 

 unanimous conclusion that an 8-hour wait 

 beside a hot stove, was vastly preferable, 

 at that stage of the game, to a 3-hours' 

 tramp through the shifting snow ; so after 

 a bountiful feed at Grover's, they sought 

 the comforts of a pipe and glass at Dick's 

 place, to await with patience the coming of 

 the West-bound train. 



Odessa is distinctly a way station, the 

 agent retiring from public life at about the 

 same hour as the hens. The traveler wish- 

 ing to take a night train must equip himself 

 with a lantern and flag the train as it goes 

 through. At 12 o'clock the bartender 

 turned out our hunters and closed his place, 

 first loaning them a lantern and directing 

 them to the station. Finding the door 

 locked, they sought the cold comfort of 

 the lee side of the station, and there they 

 tramped up and down.. The storm shrieked 

 louder and the snow blew thicker. The 

 hunters sleepily cursed the time table and 

 the railroad management from the presi- 

 dent down to the section crew, and prayed 

 for the coming of the train. At last a shrill 

 whistle and the roar of the approaching 

 train warned them that their weary vigil 

 was over. The druggist, who was carrying 

 the light, moved over to the edge of the 

 platform and signalled for a stop. Just as 

 the engine thundered up to the station, 



Cottontail George stepped out from the 

 shadow of the building, with his cap drawn 

 down over his eyes, and his gun at a ready. 

 The startled engineer threw the throttle 

 wide open and tore into Ortonville in rec- 

 ord time, reporting an attempted holdup 

 at Odessa. 



That is the reason the druggist and Cot- 

 tontail George were too tired to eat break- 

 fast that morning, and why it is unsafe for 

 even their best friends to approach them 

 on the subject of rabbit hunting. 



WHO SAID. RATS? 



C. N. DOUGLAS. 



A pussy cat sat by the kitchen fire and 



dozed in a listless way; 

 Full length, inert, as if half dead, she 



there in slumber lay. 

 But, oh ! A wondrous change came o'er 



that sleepiest of cats 

 When Mary Ann dropped the frying pan 



and suddenly shouted "rats" ! 



Rats! rats! Who said rats? 

 Who was that said rats? 

 Only show me where they are, 

 The little pesky brats ! 

 You thought that I was sleeping, 

 But wide open I was keeping 

 One ear any eye so I could fly 

 If any one said rats ! 



A sad little dog lay out in the yard and 



never a hair moved he. 

 He seemed as if dead, or glued to the earth, 



or a marble statue must be. 

 But he sprang to his feet like a lightning 



flash when Bill Jones and Jonathan 



Sprats. 

 Within his hearing began to discuss the 



peculiar ways of cats ! 



Cats! Cats! Who said cats? 

 Who said Thomas cats? 

 Show me where they are and if you 

 Are fond of watching sprats. 

 You thought that I was sleeping 

 But wide open I was keeping 

 One ear and eye, so I could fly 

 If anyone said cats ! 



A bad little boy reclined on a bench and 



dreamed in the warm June sun, 

 And beside the boy was that murdrous 



toy, an elegant new air gun. 

 And borne on the breeze came a sound 



through the trees, and that laziest of 



brats, 

 Grabbed his gun like a bird and yelled as 



he heard, "Who's that said rats or 



cats?" 



Rats! Cats! Rats! Dogs! Cats! 



Who said rats, or cats? 



I'm looking for fun with my little air gun 



I'm death on rats or cats ! 



You thought that I was sleeping, 



But wide open I was keeping 



One ear and eye so I could fly v 



If any one said rats ! 



