98 



FOREST AM E> STREAM, 



[Feb, 4, 1893. 



SUCKER DAYS. 



THE shytepokes dangled their loose legs doubtingly 

 before settling down to a wobbly perch among the 

 red-budding tops of the soft maple saplings, but after 

 many balancings and upstretching of necks they could 

 finally look down through the white sumacs and choose 

 a safe alighting place in the mucky, trembling swamp 

 where we boys never could go. It was not a large swamp; 

 in fact, it would not strain any one very much to heave 

 a stone half way across it nowadays, but at the time I 

 have in mind it was a great sphagnum-lined mystery of 

 a place, and it seemed to us youngsters that the other side 

 was way, way over there. The boulders in the rough 

 pastures round about it were partly hidden with chaplets 

 of huckleberry bushes and sweet fern, and here and there 

 along the stone walls some of the butternuts that a past 

 generation of squirrels hid too well had developed 

 into scrawny trees. Through the leafless bushes of the 

 swamp we could get a glimpse of a little round pond hole 

 out near the middle, and tradition had it that no one had 

 ever found bottom there. That was because no onehad ever 

 tried. If any one had ever found bottom there he surely 

 would have told of it; and so the question remained as 

 settled with us. The swamp was just one of a thousand 

 in New England, but special interest centered in this one 

 because Brown Brook emerged from it, and with its many 

 little swirls and swishings and bubblings among the bogs 

 and rocks finally entered the old mill pond right where 

 the button bushes grew thickest. 



Brown Brook was not exactly a spring brook, because 

 in the summer time the water got pretty warm, and 

 sometimes there wasn't very much of it anyway, and 

 that's why the boy of whom I am going to write never 

 heard from the ten small mottle-backed, skittish trout that 

 he lugged over from Sandy Brook in a tin pail and put 

 into it. Possibly they are up in the bottomless swamp 

 hole now and weighing a pound or two apiece, but only 

 the minks know about that. 



There was one thing that the brook was good for and 

 that was its suckers, "Who ever heard tell of a brook 

 that was good for nothing? In the springtime, when the 

 soft tnaples were beginning to invite the purple finches, 

 suckers ran up from the mill pond, and during the day 

 remained hidden beneath the larger stones in the brook. 

 When school was out for noon recess "us boys" had time 

 to run over to the brook and catch a sucker or two in our 

 hands by feeling for them under th8 stones and then encir- 

 cling them in all of the death-like grip that was possible 

 in short, chubby fingers. The suckers were not very large 

 ones, but sometimes a half-pounder was cawght, and on a 

 day that I want to remember all about, the boy found an 

 "awfully" great big one way in under a shelving rock. 

 Just as he was getting ready to grab, the sucker darted 

 out between the boy's feet and fluttered and splashed 

 over the ripples into another hole further down stream. 



Any fish is to a boy something worthy of his entire at- 

 tentions and it didn't matter if the water in the hole 

 where the big sucker had gone was rather deep, for 

 who cared about getting in over the tops of Ms boots 

 when such a fish was within reach! I don't remember 

 exactly how old the boy was, but probably he had not 

 heard the first jingling of the peep-frogs more than eight 

 times, and it was hard for such small ears to notice the 

 bell that announced the ending of recess time, or the calls 

 of Ned Ellis and Joe Carroll as they ran back to school. 



The boy knew precisely under which stone the big 

 sucker had gone, and carefully reaching one hand 

 beneath it he could feel the cool, smooth sides of the fish 

 as it crowded a little further in away from him. Then, 

 putting the other hand in position to head off attempts at 

 escape, he suddenly held the struggling, gasping sucker 

 in both hands. The stones were slippery, and in an effort 

 to steady himself the boy partly lost his grip, and felt the 

 sucker surely working out of his hands— you know how it 

 feels— and despairingly tossed it toward the bank. The 

 sucker struck among the dry pebbles, protruded his long, 

 white nose and opened his round mouth in surprise, and 

 then with one ungainly flop threw himself into the brook 

 again. Why can't a fish ever flop the other way just 

 once? The boy in confusion could not see which way the 

 fish went, and a moment later there was a peculiar sort 

 of mist in the boy's eyes that prevented him from seeing 

 much of anything, and the round drops welling up 

 straight from his heart, followed each other in quick suc- 

 cession down his cheeks. 



Sorrowfully he trudged up to the school house and 

 made wet tracks to the hard board seat in the middle of 

 the room. That seat had seen quieter moments, when 

 the boy had time to "fire" spit bills up on the wall over- 

 head, or to bore converging boles in the desk, into wMch 

 various luckless flies were tucked when the teacher was 

 looking the other way. Miss Chapman was of the tall, 

 austere type, and her glasses presented the only smooth 

 outlines in her mien. She mu3t have been young, for 

 her mustache was not markedly visible from the other 

 end of the room, but her strong right arm swung with a 

 freedom that we were accustomed to see only when the 

 best of woodchuck skin flail strings gave security at a 

 .joint. Usually she took off her glasses before descending 

 to the boy's seat, but on this occasion there was too much 

 necessity for promptness in attending to him, and they 

 rattled upon the floor in the midst of a medley of ruler 

 whacks and sobs. All that afternoon and during the night 

 visions of the big sucker filled the boy's brain to the ex- 

 clusion of all other ideas, and at the woodpile at home he 

 unconsciously made a sudden grab for the biggest stick 

 and scattered the uncertain armful already collected. 



Of course we boys all rushed off' to the brook next day 

 at recess, and while Ned and Tom and Joe went to fish- 

 ing under the stones near the road the other boy followed 

 the brook down into the pasture and began to poke undpr 

 rocks in all of the holes, to see if the big sucker was still 

 in that part of the stream. All at once it rushed out in 

 sight, and the shouts of the boy brought the others on a 

 run as fast as they coull come, 



"Bight under that stone he is, fellers, and an old 

 whopper, too, by golly," said he. "I'm going to hold on 

 to him this time, you bet!" Just then came the sound of 

 the school bell across the fields. It is called a musical 

 doundj but somehow or another it seems to a- boy to be 

 different from the voices of the robins and the wood 

 thrushes and the vireos. Ruefully the boy paused a 

 moment and listened, then reaching around and feeling 



the tender parts that had not quite recovered from the 

 previous day's reddening, he decided that they would 

 have to stand one more ruling from the bench, and into 

 the brook he stepped. His hands trembled with excite- 

 ment as they went under the water and under the stone 

 and felt the fins of the hiding sucker, but with a decision 

 that brings success in all things he squeezed the fish in a 

 good double grasp and carried it so far out in the meadow 

 grass that it left all hope behind. Wasn't it a beauty! 

 We picked it up and let it flounce out of our hands a 

 dozpn times before it became submissive. 



"How will you trade him for miner" asked Tom Allen. 

 "Oh, but that one of yours ain't anywheres near so big 

 as this one,'' said the boy. "No," said Tom, "but them 

 big ones is all innards and no meat. Just heft mine 

 onct. There's twicet as much meat on him." So, always 

 ready to be taken advantage of in a bargain for any 

 plausible reason, the boy traded the great big sucker for 

 Tom's smaller one, and we lugged our respective fish 

 almost to school and hid them under the stone wall. It 

 is unnecessary to refer to our experience within the 

 doors, but our aches were tempered with the prospective 

 exultation of carrying the suckers home in our hands 

 after school was out. Alas for the trustfulness of youth! 

 The old gray cat had found the fish and dragged them 

 off to a safer place. 



Oh the sorrows of a boy ! Is there in a f ter life anything 

 that makes the heart really ache as did Our schoolday 

 griefs? Mark West. 



KELLUP'S ANNUAL 



THE other evening, after supper, Kellup sat poking 

 the kitchen fire with a flushed, weather-beaten 

 countenance unusual for him and a happy, contented 

 expression. His gaze, apparently fixed on the glowing 

 coals, was really inverted to watch the panorama of 

 woods and fields playing across the retina—a phenomenon 

 well known to sportsmen. He had just got back from 

 his annual hunt, At this point there was a commotion 

 in the entry, the door burst open, and in came Madge 

 and Tommy. 



"Oh, did y' get my squirrel tail, Gramper? Did yer? Did 

 yer?" 



This was from Madge, Tommy was more dignified. 

 Kellup reached up and took a big gray brush from the 

 mantel. It was not quite dry and there were vacant 

 spots where the fur had been. 



"Y' see, children, the way that happened " 



"Oh, begin at the beginning, Gramper, the very begin- 

 ning." 



So Tommy settled in an armchair some sizes too large, 

 and Madge on a cricket with elbow onKellup's knee, her 

 chin in hand and little finger in lips. 



"Well, well then, Jake met me at the train that 

 night " 



" Who's Jake, Gramper, the one you went fishing with 

 that time?" 



"Yes, yes, well, Jake said 'How do, how do? This my 

 brother-in-law Ben,' so I said 'How do, Ben, how do, s but 

 I didn't know his name and I don't know it yet." 



"Ben go with you, Gramp?" 



"No; he brought a dog over for us, a nice, handsome 

 hound, came from Kentucky, called him Grim. Jake 

 had a dog, too, black and yellow, with short thick legs — 

 part hound and some other things; but the part that was 

 hound I don't think had any pedigree, 'Chum,' they 

 called him. Well, next morning we bundled into the 

 wagon, dogs and all, Jake and Chum on the front seat, 

 and Trim sitting up straight beside me, with his long 

 handsome ears flapping my face while he viewed the 

 landscape wisely. I couldn't keep the blanket over him, 

 so pretty soon they both tumbled out. Chum came stub- 

 bing along behind, but Trim's long legs sent him career- 

 ing. The slightest touch to earth put him over the wall 

 and away." 



"I choose Trim!" said Madge promptly, with a half 

 defiant glance at Tom. 



"Well, by and by we came to a little white farmhouse 

 with a big black rambling barn; so we put the horse away 

 in a nice old cobwebby stall under the hay and then went 

 out back the barn and put in the cartridges. Jake says, 

 'There's a good nice swamp over there. I'll bet there's 

 sixteen rabbits in it.' So we trudged down a long yellow 

 hillside and the dogs went in and surveyed it thoroughly, 

 but said never a woi'd, so by and by we found ourselves 

 in the big woods, and there, Madge, there I met your 

 friend the squirrel." 



Midge touched her cheek softly with the big gray 

 brush and Tom moved closer. 



"You see, I sat there on a big rock in the stillness, 

 listening to Jake's voice in the distance sending in the 

 dogs, when just then I heard a pitter pat and there sat 

 Mr. Squirrel. Well, I watched him awhile, with his fat, 

 sleek, pretty ways, and then I happened to think of you, 

 Madge, so I began to draw a bead, you know," and Kell- 

 up dropped on one knee with stealthy, dramatic action, 

 while Tom promptly moved out of range and Madge 

 drew back half skeptical, half credulous. "Then," said 

 Kellup, "I fired" Tom seemed relieved, and simulated 

 a glad, fierce look, but Madge sprang back with a face 

 full of horror and reproach. 



"Why, Madge, you said you wanted one, you know." 



"Yes, but not that one Gramper. I'm going home 

 now." 



"Oh, well, I didn't bit him at all, Madge. I didn't 

 even try to hit him." So finally she was pacified and 

 came back. 



"Well, you see he just gave a jump and made a blue, 

 undulating streak across the leaves. He looked big as a 

 fox when he shook his tail out. Well, in a minute the 

 dogs came galloping in, and by the time J ake arrived 

 the hound had got the trail and stood barking at a big 

 chestnut with a hole near the ground. I concluded your 

 little friend was safe, Madge, so I told Jake all about it." 



At this point Kellup stopped to turn a big blue stock- 

 ing hanging on the oven door. Madge looked perplexed. 



"Well, the first thing I knew, Jake had a long rod with 

 notches cut in the end rammed up that hole as far as he 

 could reach, and was twisting it. When it came out 

 there was fur twisted in. Then he went at it again, and 

 pretty soon he pulled slowly, slow-ly, with both dogs 

 wrinkling their noses to a point at the hole," 



Kellup made a period here and observed the symp- 

 toms. After a minute or two he saidi " Well, then we 

 had some lunch and started again, and at last old Trim 

 began to talk to the moon. Chuio dropped all engage- 

 ments and joined in too, and their Toices went off in the 



distance with their tails wagging after. Jake said 'You 

 sit on that log and they'll fetch him round,' So I sat and 

 waited a long, long time till the sounds seemed coming 

 my way again, and presently sure enough a light qu'ek 

 footfall on the leaves and hopping along came Mr. Bunny. 



Here Kellup stopped provokingly and seemed inclined 

 to doze. 



At length from Tommy, "Hit him, Gramp?" No re- 

 sponse. "Didy' try to hit 'im, Gramper?" This time a 

 slight assenting nod. 



"Well, did you hit him then?" from Madge pulling his 

 sleeve. 



' ' Yes, I think I must because he stopped coming toward 

 me and went off somewhere else. When we got there, 

 Chum was lying by and Trim was out of sight in a burrow 

 with his tail sticking out. Jake says ' I can slip up to 

 that barn on the hill and get a ferret in ten minutes.' " 



" What's a ferret, Gramper?" 



"A ferret's a little, long, snaky animal. You put a 

 ring on his mouth and put him in the hole. Sometimes 

 the rabbit runs his nose in the ground and dies of fright, 

 with his fur ail clawed off, but generally he comes out." 



"Well, did Jake get the ferret?" 



"Well, I stooped down and listened, 'n I thought I 

 heard a little whimper, 'n old Bunny was saying, he says: 

 'I loped round for half an hour,' he says, 'and put up a 

 square game against two men, and two guns, and two 

 dogs, so now let me be this time, and some day I'll give 

 you another run,' " 



The snore that followed this period was pronounced 

 and eloquent, and the children knew the tale of the 

 annual hunt was ended. Jefferson Scribb. 



AN UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. 



"TS it possible that you read Forest and Stream?" a 



J. lady said to me" in a half -she eked way, yesterday. 

 "Is there anything in it besides sporting new» ? ' 



I replied, "I am very fond of all natural objects, and 

 I find every week most delightful and often I rog-sought- 

 for information in regard to birds, animals and fishes in 

 its breezy columns.' 



One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, and 

 what a feeling of sympathy and comradeship we have for 

 some reveler in the beauty of an autumnal day, who, we 

 understand, reading between the lines, cares more for the 

 sweet smells and sounds of the woods than for the filling 

 of his game bag. 



One may neither hunt nor fish and yet sympathize with 

 the spirit of the true huntsman and feel a thrill of indig- 

 nation at sound of a gun after the game law is on. 



I am grieved at the wanton killing of any of God's 

 beautiful creatures. I sit down by a forgotten snare, set 

 by some maurader in my own woodland, and regard with 

 moist eyes the little heap of feathers that show the sacri- 

 fice of an unfortunate partridge. 



I know the haunts "of these birds, and where quail, 

 rabbits and gray squirrels may be found, and I have a 

 fancy that the pretty creatures know me. Would I give 

 them away to the lad with the gun? 



By no means, no more than I would set a hound on the 

 trail of the red fox thit ran out of a wayside thipkefc and 

 trotted airily along in front of our horse for several rods 

 as unconcernedly as a dog, and as he took to the wood- 

 land again turned a shy, curious glance at us over his 

 shoulder, as much as to say: "I was sure you had no gun, 

 so I have taken pleasure in showing you that a fox at his 

 ease is really a beautiful creature." 



Babbits sit up and look at us as daintily as kittens, and 

 woodchucks pause on the edge of their dugout and chatter 

 their teeth with an air of genuine good fellowship. 



Here and there all about this section, where my wild 

 friends have their haunts, are farms for sale. 



One, the little cottage of which wmld make a pictur- 

 esque hunting lodge, has long been the comfortable he me 

 of a bright old couple, both over 80, who died within a 

 few days of each other in December. The property goes 

 to nieces living for away, who, of course, would never 

 think to make a game covert of the meadows and wood- 

 land or to stock the streams with fish. 



There are other farms with comfortable and commo- 

 dious dwellings, where the old, long-time residents have 

 died and the young people most foolishly gone away to 

 the factories, that would make healthy and altogether 

 delightful summer homes that can be purchased for less 

 than the cost of the buildings. 



This is, strangely enough, an undiscovered country to 

 the summer resident. There are no hotels and the 

 thrifty well-to-do farmers will not take boarders. 



"I can see no virtue in killing myself with work in 

 order that some one else shall have an easy time," said a 

 notable housewife last spring when importuned to open 

 her beautiful house to boarders. "1 enjoy a dainty gown, 

 a book and a rocking-chair under a tree in summer just 

 as much as if I had spent my winter in a city, and by 

 keeping my family comfortable I have earned a right to 

 my leisure." 



If city people wish to come to these healthy and beau- 

 tiful hills why do they not buy one of the "farms that 

 are for sale, be independent, hunt their own fore-ts, fish 

 their own streams and ponds and take all the comforts 

 there is. 



I wonder if New York people* are aware of the cheap 

 farms within easy distance of the city by the way of the 

 comfortable Sound steamers and the New London North- 

 ern R. R ; farms within easy distance of the railway 

 stations, large beautifully-situated dwellings in a country 

 as healthy, as free from hay fever and as picturesque as 

 the Berkshire Hills or the White Mountain regions of 

 New Hampshire. 



This is not an advertisement. It is written out of pure 

 sympathy for the city resident who every summer spends 

 enough money to buy one of these farms in pursuit of 

 real comfort that is all too-seldom found, 



There are private ponds stocked with fi3h where lines 

 barbed with silver or gold may be cast by occasional 

 visitors. There are numberless" opportunities for similar 

 ponds in sheltered vales, where the now rare wild duck 

 might settle down grateful for the inviting seclusion. 



There are stories told of flocks of wild geese spending 

 stormy nights on these ponds, among ths hills, while on 

 their migratory journeys, and now and then someone 

 tells of catching a string of 100 trout in an afternoon 

 along some ranging brook; but the warning "No fishing 

 or hunting on these premises" is conspicuous by every 

 stream and in every forest. 



The flowers, ferns and mosses in Tolland county axe 



