Apeil 13, 1898.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



315 



Next morning the f armer said he'd ' 'Heered them dogs 

 a barkin' hke forty and guessed that old weasel was about 

 agin." 



"May be it was a coonV" I mildly ventured to suggest. 



"Wall, no. I reckon it couldn't well been a coon, 

 'cause coons don't, as a gineral thing, git so nigh to the 

 honse." 



I was greatly tempted to inquire whether he ever knew 

 coons to be fond of cider, but I forbore. 



The next Sunday I stayed away from church, because 

 I knew very well that though the Parson could jireach 

 the sermon soberly enough I never could take up the 

 collection without smihng. 



DANVIS FOLKS.-II. 



Home Again. 



Joseph Hill must have had a late breakfast and been a 

 long time harnessing his horses, for the morning was far 

 spent when he made his serene appearance, which had for 

 some time been heralded as with the ra+tle of drums by 

 the clatter of his hay wagon. At last they were fairly set 

 forth on the final stage, of their journey. The little city 

 was behind them, the roar of the cataract becoming fainter 

 and fainter on their eai-s, and before them arose, ever a 

 little nearer, their own mountain, towering into the drift 

 of clouds. The gusty south wind blew so chilly that Uncle 

 Lisha drew his bell-crowned beaver well down upon his 

 ears and buttoned closer his many-caped drab surtout, 

 and Aunt .Jerusha, muffled in a melon hood and 

 blue camlet cloak, with a buffalo skin tucked 

 about her, was none too warm. Withal they 

 were immercifuUy jolted, tumbled now to- 

 getlier, now apart, on the board seat which 

 they often could only keep by hard hold- 

 ing. Yet in spite of any discomfort, their old 

 hearts grew lighter with every shortening fur- 

 long of their homeward way. They were con- 

 tmually shouting inquiries to Joseph and he 

 shouting back disjointed answers aboA^e the din 

 of the wagon, all together making an uproar of 

 voices and clatter that might have alarmed 

 neighborhoods less accustomed to such sounds. 



They were impatient of every delay; when 

 Joseph would halt a moment to pass a few 

 words with some teamster that they met, he 

 was reminded by a hint that the afternoon was 

 waning. They would not waste time in stop- 

 ping to eat luiich, but ate as they bounced along 

 the rough road. If the jolting sometin^es 

 cheated the opened jaws of an expected, gyrat- 

 ing mouthful, these old people partook with 

 the appetite of children of the good, home- 

 cooked fare that Maria Hill had bountifulh'. 

 pi'ovided for her husband's refreshment. 



"These aire fried cakes is complete," Uncle 

 Lislia said, as he captured another doughnut 

 from the dodging pail aud gave it to his wife. 



"Yes," she said, regarding it with benign 

 approval, "they be proper good, an' Marier 

 twists 'em jest as she useter. Taste better 'n 

 them raound things wi' a hole in the middle 

 'at some folks make," and Uncle Lisha under- 

 stood that tlieir son's wife was as good as 

 named by this general term. 



"Them Avas invented for folks 'at goes afoot 

 tu keiTy on a string er string 'em on a fish 

 pole er a gun berril, an' they're raal handy," he 

 explained. 



"I don't keer," she answered, "I don't 

 wanter be a tryin' tu stay my stomerk wi' 

 holes. Gi' me solid victuals." 



But once Uncle Lisha did call a halt. They 

 had satisfied their hunger and were brushing 

 the crumbs from their garments when they 

 entered the hill country, where a cold moun- 

 tain brook braided the strands of its clear cur- 

 rent along the roadside, frequently crossing 

 from one to the other beneath rude, wooden 

 bridges. 



"Whoa, Jozeff," he shouted as his delighted 

 gaze returned from roving up evergreen slopes 

 and climbing rocky peaks, to rest upon the 

 sparkling wat«r, "le' me git aout. It's three 

 year sen' I hed a drink o' what you might call 

 water, an' I'm drier 'n a gi-aven image. Naow 

 I'm goin' tu ha' some." As he sj)oke he clam- 

 bered down from the rear of the wagon and 

 waddled like a thirsty duck to the brookside. 

 Carefully setting his hat upon a stone he got 

 upon liis hands and knees and drank long and eagerly 

 from a pebbled-bottomed pool, while the bubbles went 

 to wreck upon his nose and sprinkled his face with 

 unheeded spray. 



"Ahhh," he sighed, raising himself a little to regain 

 his breath, "that squenches me clean tuthe soles o' my 

 boots;" and again he set himself to lessening the volume 

 of the brook. "Naow, Jerushy," said he as he got upon 

 liis feet and wiped his face with the ample bandanna that 

 he stowed in his hat crown, "gi' me the kiver o' that tin 

 pail an' I'll treat ye." 



He passed the brimming pail cover over to his wife, 

 while Joseph, casting a glance down stream, remarked: 



"Why, Uncle Lisher, I b'lieve you've drinked the brook 

 dry. Seem's 'ough I c'ld see the traouts a-kickin' on the 

 gravel daown yender." 



"Like's not, Jozeff, Iliad a thirst 'at was wuth ten dol- 

 lars in money, an' I've squenched it. Why, good airth 

 an' seas, Jozeff, what they call water aout West is wet, 

 an' some kind o' fish live m't an' you c'n wash you in't 

 arter a fashion, but when you come tu drinkin' on't, you 

 haftu make it intu tea, "er mix it wi' whiskey — but it 

 spiles the whiskey. Wal, le's be gittin' along. I'm in a 

 hurry tu git hum, an' I swan, I'm a good min' tu set on the 

 front seat so's tu git there quicker." 



They wex'e nearing then- own township, and the land- 

 scape was becoming' more and more familiar. The for- 

 lorn aspect of the naked trees and fields tawny with dead 

 grass or stubble or black with furrows of fall plowing 

 did not diminish the interest of the travelers in every 

 feature of the lanscape. for unlike Joseph, who had seen 

 it aU so lately as yesterday, they scanned eagerlj^ every 

 farm and homestead, recognizing every old landmark and 

 discovering every cliange. 



"That ort tu be the Johns' pla,ce," said the old man after 

 a long look 3,t a farmstead that had come into view, "but 



someliaow it don't look nat'ral. Why, 'f Johns haintben 

 a-buildin' on him a haouse. Who'd ever a thought o' 

 him duin' that, tighter'n the bark tu a tree an' yit never 

 had nuthin' tu du nothin' Avith. Mx 'f he haint ben cut- 

 tin' off half his sugar-place, the dumb'd fool. I'd never 

 thought o' Johns duin' that." 



"01' Mr. Johns died las' year, er year afore raebbe, I d' 

 know,'" Joseph explamed, speaking over his shoulder. 

 "Abner heii-ed it all, an' he's cuttin' consid'able of a swath 

 with the ol' man's prop'ty." 



"Ahhh, thet 'caounts for it," the old man said, "most 

 allers the way. 01' folks pinchin' an' savin' for young 

 folks tu squander. So poor ol' Johns is dead. You don't 

 say. Wal, wal, an' hed tu leaA^e all his savin's. I uster 

 shoe-make for him, an' he'd allers hev his'n an' his wife's 

 an' boy's boots an' shoes made a size tu sniall to save 

 luther." 



"Naow don't, Lisher," Ms wife expostulated mildly, 

 "he's dead an' done Avi' boots an' shoes." 



"An' I haint no daoubtit's a comfort tu him t' git red o' 

 the expense. See them critters," pointing to a long strag- 

 gling flock of crows tliat, close above the tree tops of the 

 .Johns sugar place, st'iggered southward in slow, laborious 

 flight agamst the buffeting wind, "but nex' spring they'll 

 be as glad as we be tu git back here an' gather the crow 

 tax ah' pull corn an' raise hob an' their young uns an' git 

 shot at. An' here we be to the top o' the Johns hill, an' 

 there's ol' Tater hill an' the Hump julluk ol' frien's a risin' 

 up tu vA-elcome us, not a mite altered nor a day older tu look 

 at. I hope there haint no livin' frien's changed no more." 



A SANDWICH ISLAND FISH-HOOIsT. 

 lu the possession of the editoi- of Forest anu S'iream. 



At the thought of such possibilities a shade of sadness 

 touched his radiant face. "The Hump's got his Avhite cap 

 on," pointing to the snow-sheathed helmet of the majestic 

 mountain, for a moment disclosed by a rift of the driving 

 clouds. " 'Time j^our taters was dug,' says he. An' by 

 thunder, I be.gin tu git the smell o' the balsams an' 

 spreuces. Good airth an' seas, I c'ld holler an' I c'ld sing, 

 an' I'm a dumb good mrnter," his heavy voice increasing 

 to a roar that thi-eatened something alarming if it should 

 rise to ei'eater volume. 



"Lisher Peggs, du, fer land's sake, behave. Folks'll 

 think your bein' brung home crazy." 



"Let'em think," shouted he, " 'twont hurt 'em none, 

 I'm goin' tu. Hooray. Sing, Jerushy, sing I tell you. 

 "Come, Philander, le's be a marchin', 



Ev'ry one his treu love a sarchin' ; 



Chuse your treu love, now or never, 



See that you don't chuse no other. 



Fol de rolde fol de rolde day." 



Aunt Jerusha could not forbear adding her quavering 

 voice to his roaring refrain, and then, with teara on her 

 wrinkled cheeks, laughed hysterically, exclaiming, "What 

 tew ol' fools we be." 



Joseph laughed in enjoyment of their exuberant happi- 

 ness and hummed to himself a bit of the old song with 

 some intention of adding his voice if they should strike 

 up again. Then urging on his horses the wagon went 

 rattling down the long hill at a pace that jolted all the 

 tunefulness out of Lisha's voice, while his hat already 

 shaken down to the bridge of his nose, threatened pres- 

 ently to quite extinguish his utterance. CarefuUy shov- 

 ing the cherished beaver upAvard with both hands till he 

 regained sight of his surroundings; he remarked in quieter 

 tone, "There's theDan'l Perkins place jest as it was when 

 I see it last," 



"Why land o' Goshen, so it is," cried Aunt Jerusha, "an' 

 Miss Perkins has got her milk things aout sunnin' this 

 claoudy day. Eaises sunflaower seeds to feed her tur- 

 keys jest 's she allers did. See what a sight o' stalks in 

 the gardin. They must ha' looked harnsome when they 

 Avas in blow. But I'd druther feed turkeys corn for me t' 

 ea,t. Ily things sunflaower seeds be. An' there's the tur- 

 keys goin' t' i-hust on the ridge o' the ruff, jest as c'ntented 

 's if day arter t' morrer wa'nt Thaaksgivin', I wisht' Miss 

 Perkins er him 'd come aoutdoor, I du hanker so tu see 

 someb'dy 't I know. But there's the ol' yaller dawg," as a 

 still-legged old dog came waddling doAvn the footpath 

 toward the road, asthmatically and mechanically perform- 

 ing his self-appointed duty of barking at every passing 

 team; having accompHshed which, he waddled back to 

 the house, congratulating himself with labored wags of 

 his rigid tail. "I c'n see faces in the winders, but I can't 

 tell 'em. Why on airth don't some on 'em come aou' 

 door? But I s'pose they don't know who we be? " sighed 

 Aunt Jerusha, again looking forward, after painfully 

 twisting her neck to keep the house longer in view. 



"Tew more hills an' you'll see hausenand folks 'nough 't 

 you know." said her husband cheerfully, "ef 'taint got tu 

 be tu dark by then. An' there's a hoss, colored and gaited 

 kinder famd'ar," he continued, Avhile his eyes became 

 fixed on a sleek, black horse that Avas soberly coming 

 down the hUl which they were ascending. "Good airth 

 an' seas, Jerusha, it's ol' Bob an' that aire big* John Dart 

 a drivin' on him," and in the next minute he said as the 

 teams met, "Wal ol' Bob, haow be ye, ye tarnal ol' critter? 



Don't ye know yer own folks? " while the old 

 horse pricked his ears at the sound of the un- 

 mistakable famiUar voice. 



"Whoa, JozeflP, I got to git aout a minute." 

 Joseph, never loth to stop, pulled up his 

 horses and the old man, getting to the ground 

 with clumsy haste, went around to Bob, caress- 

 ing the Avhite nose which was thrust into his 

 horny hand, and Avould have kissed it if there 

 had been no one to see him. "Jolinswort 

 haint made your ol' white nose sore this year 

 hes it? You know yoiir own folks don't you? 

 Slick 's an otter haint ye, an' haint growed ol' 

 a mite, not a mite; hes he, Jerushy?" as he 

 patted his way along the old horse's glossy, 

 black sides toward the wagon and its occupant, 

 to whom he now stretched forth his hand. 



"Haow dy du. Mr. Dart, you an' ol' Bob 

 looking fustrate?" 



"O, tol'ble," responded the giant, shaking the 

 old man's hand with a painful grip that for 

 its heartiness was heroically borne, "but pinin' 

 away to a cartload; and be you well, and you, 

 Mis' Peggs? Kinder tuckered aout trav'lin? 

 Putty tough on folks o' your age trav'lin' so 

 fur. You never ort tu gone West an' I'm 

 jruighty glad y're back in ol' V'mont agin." 



Joseph urged his horses forAvard, but before 

 they began to climb the second hill the shadows 

 of evening were thick in the hollows and 

 creeping to"! the hiUtops in gathering volume, 

 till the bounds of gray woods and tawny fields 

 grew undefinable in the eA'en hue of dusk and 

 the outlines of the wooded ridges were blurred 

 against the somber sky. When the promised 

 point of observation was reached the vaUey of 

 Danvis lay before them in the thick darkness 

 of early hightfaU, the gloom relieved only by 

 the broken chain of house lights that here and 

 there defined the fines of highways, and in a 

 thicker cluster of links marked the place of the 

 village. 



A moment after they had reached the hilltop, 

 the expectant silence of the pair was broken 

 by Lisha in a tone of disappointment. ' 'Wal, I 

 swan, we can't see nuthin'. It's darker 'n a 

 Avolf's maouth. But I c'n pick aout the lights. 

 There's the Forge an' Hamner's an' the store, 

 an' there's the blacksmith's shop, an' there 

 the lower rhud goes off north. An' the fust 

 haouse on it is Darkter Stun's, an' then comes 

 Gove's — wonder ef that's Peltier pokin' aout 

 tu the barn wi' a lantern — an' there's Lovel's, 

 where we're goin', an' there, 'baout a hundred 

 rods furder north, ort tu be aour fights shinin', 

 one in the shop 'n' 'nuther in the haouse part; 

 but they Avon't never be lit agin, I s'pose. I 

 wisht they was an' these tew humless an' humly 

 ol' creeturs was in the fight on 'em, she a-fus- 

 sin' raound her kitchin, him a-whackin' away 

 't his lapstun, all his frien's a-loafin' raound, 

 smokin' an' teUin' stories. But they won't be never." 



"Why, yes, Lisher, you'll shoemake agin an' hev yer 

 frien's comin' an' visitin' jes 's they useter," said his wife, 

 her voice modulated to the tender tone with Avhich she 

 would haA'e comforted a child. 



"Yis, yis, I'll shoemake, but it won't be as it useter was. 

 or times don't never come agin. Ye look back an' ye 

 look forrad tu 'em, but they never ketch up tu ye, nor 

 meet ye, ho, hum, sussy day." 



"Ain't that light tu Solon Briggs's?" asked his wife, re- 

 calling him to the locating of homesteads. 



"An' there's youm, jozeff, and Joel Bartlet haint 

 a-hidin' his'n under a ha' bushel, for there it shines 

 afore aU men. An' there's Pur'n'ton's, an' le' me see, 

 why that aire leetle gfim o'fighsoff t' the left is An twine's. 

 Ev'ry identical haouse lit up but aourn. But we're aUve 

 an' kickin' yit," he added more cheerfully; and so he com- 

 pleted the round of his mental visitation, during which 

 Joseph had contiibuted items of uncertain information as 

 each neighboi* was named. 



' 'An' so yer father's hel' his own tol'able weU, hes he^ 

 Jozeff? I swan tu man, I dread meetin' on him, for he'll 

 gi' me Hail Columby fer comin' back wus'n he did fer 

 goin' away. But ef I c'n on'y git him tu takin' Ti, he'll 

 le' me alone. He hes spells o' takin' Ti yet, don't he, 

 Jozeff?" 



"Wal, yis," Joseph answei'ed Avith a tone of resignar 

 tion. "Reg'lar, oncteaweek, an' I dont know but oftener; 

 seems 's 'ough. Sometimes I most wish him an' Ethan 

 Allen hedn't never took the pleggid ol' fort, seems 's *ough 

 I did a'most. 



Presently, Avhen they could see on the steps of the store, 

 Avhich was also the postoffice, the expectant group await- 

 ing the mail, staring into the gloom out of the dim light 

 shed through the dusty panes and the sprinkled rays of a 

 tin lantern, they turned the corner and took the road 



