880 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



I May 4, 189b. 



MY CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE.— IV. 



My aged friend and myself had been fishing a little, but 

 skirmishing aromid a great deal in a careless, indolent 

 sort of a manner. Along- toward noon we sought the 

 friendly shade of an old sawmiU as a good place to cool 

 off, rest and eat our lunch. What was now a dilapidated 

 tumble-down ruin showed plainly that it had ©nee been a 

 well-built, substantial structure, and erected at an early 

 day, as the huge timbers showed the marks of the scoring 

 and broadax. 



"Rather an aged concern, but built for busiuess," I re- 

 marked, after taking a quiet look around. 



The old man said, "It was one of the oldest mills on the 



lake, buUt by a man by the name of ; he lived down 



the lake shore quite a piece. Ever know him?" 



"Not acquainted with liim, but I have heard him 

 preach," I i-eplied. 



"Yes, he was a preacher, Indian missionary, banker, 

 lumberman and a lot of things where there was any 

 money in sight. He was a stirring, pushing old feller, as 

 full of business as an egg is of meat. He was a born 

 schemer, could see more holes in a skimmer than the man 

 what made it, always ready to operate at a wedding, a 

 funeral, land sale or a horse trade; could tell how many 

 feet she'd cut to the acre as well as the best of 'em; count 

 and take in money easy and quicker 'n a flash of greased 

 lightning, but when it cojne to paying it out he was 

 slower than January molasses. 



"I logged for him one winter up the river here. He 

 furnished the supplies and just money enough to keep the 

 men going till the job was done in the spring. I ain't good 

 at figgers and book-keeping, and as I said, the old feller 

 lived nigh on to forty mile from here. We didn't git mail 

 very often then. I was busy on my clearing. He fiddled 

 faddled about one thing or another, put off the settlement 

 on one excuse then another, till fall; then I took a big 

 logging job and went into the woods and didn't come out 

 till the next spring. Then I made up my mind I'd go 

 down to his place and have it out with him. Well, I went 

 down and the first thing I done arter I got thar was the 

 very thing I hadn't ougiater a done. I got full. Then I 

 tried to get the old chap down on the dock; if I had I'd 

 a thrown him in the river sure, but he wouldn't go with 

 me, but I cornered him in his office, cussed him, abused 

 him, and called him all the hard names I could tliink of, 

 and I was well up in that line thern days. The old chaj) 

 took it all good-naturedly and kept cool, while I wex'e red 

 hot; but I soon burned out, left him and come home feel- 

 ing terrible wicked. I was a ta lking about it one time up 

 in the village, fer I was that mad I couldn't keep my 

 mouth shet, when a timber hunter axed me where I 

 logged. 'Why,' says I, 'on sec: ion .' 



" 'Are you sure it was on that section? 



" 'Yes, I am dead sure on't. 



" 'Then,' says he, 'you were cutting Uncle Sam's timber, 

 for I happen to know that 'ere section has never been 

 entered.' 



"I found out that the man was right. Then, thinks I, 

 here is a go, and I'll fetch the old man up with a round 

 turn. I reckon the old feller heard something about it, 

 for in a few days one of his clerks came to my place and 

 told me that the old man was very much put out at the 

 way I talked to him, and didn't feel much like hurrying 

 along the settlement. The chap talked sweet and nice, 

 said I abused the old man shamefully, that after I'd gone 

 he said he never would settle tih the tail end of an 

 execution, said he'd never been abused so in his life 

 before, but when told I'd been drinking, cooled off and 

 said he would try and forget it. The clerk said the old 

 man was disposed to do what was right and fair about it, 

 but that I must make out another statement, as the other 

 had got lost or mislaid; if I would do that he would see it 

 were fixed up right away. 



"Well, as I said, I ain't 'pert at figgers, and it took me 

 some time, fer it were quite a job, but I got it done and 

 sent it down. Then I waited a good while and didn't 

 hear from it. I was just about thinking I'd write about 

 it, when I got a letter asking why I didn't send that 'ere 

 statement, they had been looking for it for some time. 

 I wrote to 'em I had sent it jest as I agreed to. They 

 wrote back I must have sent it wrong, as they never got 

 it and asked me try it again and to send it in the directed 

 wrapper, which they inclosed. 



"Arter a while I started another .statement and put it 

 in their wrapper. This they got, for in about two weeks 

 I got a letter from 'em saying so, also that I'd better go 

 over the whole business with some one carefully, because 

 they were sure I'd made some mistakes, as I had given 

 'em credit for more money than they'd ever sent me. 

 WeU, I thought that looked kind o" square and honest 

 like, but it were some time before I could get a good 

 figgerer to go over it with. At last our Supervisor did it. 

 AVe didn't change it much of any, but it was a more ship 

 shape looking affair. Betwixt the dilly-dallying of one 

 kind or another, it was getting along toward winter agin, 

 when I got a letter from 'em saying they knowed I'd 

 made a mistake somewhere, but as they were very busy 

 and short-handed and didn't have the time to look it up, 

 they'd settle according to my statement as soon as ever 

 they could git their tallj^ book, which was in the hands 

 of their tally clerk, who had gone over to Canada to his 

 mother's funeral. Jest as soon as he got back they'd 

 send me a check for the whole amount I claimed. 



"WeU, sir, I reckoned I were well out of that scrape; 

 that air trouble was over and done for. So I got my 

 traps together, and arter telling the Squire up in the vil- 

 lage what to do with the check, pinted fer the woods agin, 

 to stay all winter. When I comed out the next spring, I 

 were badly disappointed when the Squire told me he had 



not got any check for me from old . So I got the 



Squire to write him a sharp, short letter, asking him why 

 he hadn't sent it as agreed; but I got a shorter one in 

 answer in about two weeks. It said, 'Aint going to send 

 you a check, aint going to pay you a cent, because I don't 

 owe you anything!' 



"A neighbor fetched me the letter. I read it, jumped 

 on a horse, and never qTiit cussing until the old Squire told 

 me ef I didn't shut up he'd have me gagged. Arter a 

 while I got cooled off so as I could talk English, then I 

 told the Squire I wanted to make a complaint agin old 

 for cutting timber on Uncle Sam's land. 



" 'When did you log for Mm?' says the Squire. 



" 'Two years ago last winter,' says I. 



' ' 'Too late,' says the Sguire. 'Time is up and more, too ; 

 must make complaint inside of two yeara. No good 

 now.' 



"By the great general jumping jeeswax, didn't I get 

 roaring, redhot mad, boiled over, got black in the face, 

 choked up, fell down ia a fit. Squire sent for a doctor. 

 Felt as ef I'd been under a hay press when I comed to, but 

 mad as ever. 



"Tiie doctor kept me in the house a Imll week, but it 

 weren't all lost time. I'd callated jest what I'd do as soon 

 as I got out agin. I knowed whei-e there was a lot of the 

 logs in the lake, and as soon as ever I were able I floated 

 'em over on to my side and pulled 'em out on to my land. 



Thare I let 'em lay a while till they got dry. Old 



and his son were a-running this mill then in company, 

 and I sold them logs to the son for two hundred dollars 

 more than the old man owed me, and I kept the money." 

 Grand Rapids, Mich. A, W. 



DANVIS FOLKS.— IV. 



Among Old Friends. 



An abashed titter broke the brief interval of silence and 

 then Mrs. Purington entered, panting with the exertion of 

 chmbing the steep steps, with Sis. in the taashfulness of 

 overgrown awkwardness, following close behind. 



"Ef I hev got tu come over here every tew three days 

 fer the hull endurin' days o' my life," she gasped in tones 

 whose reproachfulness was emphasized by her labored 

 breathing, "it does seem as ef someb'dy might stick some 

 planks er slabs er suthin' int' the fences tu make it easier 

 a-gettin' over. An' these 'ere back steps, it's juUuk 

 climbin' a ladder. I should think, Samwill, 'at you might 

 kinder slant 'em someways. It does seem as ef my limbs 

 an' my breath was a-gettin' shorter eve'y day, an' it does 

 seem as 'outh I couldn't stan' it a-trapsin' over here much 

 longer." 



"Ef you'd holler er blow a horn when you was a-startin' 

 I might go an' le' daown the fences for ye," Sam suggested 

 cheerily, while he revolved plans for making the fences 

 more impassable. 



His mother-in-law acknowledged the suggestion by a 

 sigh expressive of submission to continued injury, and 

 having somewhat recovered breath, waddled over to 

 the newly-arrived guests, whom she saluted with funereal 

 solemnity. 



"Haow du you du, Aunt Jerushy, an' haow du you du. 

 Uncle Lisher? You haint well be ye, naow? You du looic 

 so wore aout an' tuckered, an' I p'sume tu say you're 

 comin' daown wi' that au-e Western fever 'at so many dies 

 on. You'd ort tu go right tu bed, an' take suthin', some 

 boneset tea er pennyrile er suthin'. I du wish 't I'd fetched 

 over suthin', an' I would 'f I'd knowed you was a-lookin' 

 so. But I do' know 's I could ha' stood it tu ha' fetched 

 anythin' but myself. Jest as soon 's I felt able arter I 

 hearn you'd come, I tol' him I mus' come an' give ye a 

 welcome an' make you feel tu Inmi, 'cause I knowed ye 

 couldn't help feelin' 't you was craowdin' in, an' I 

 p'sume tu say it wiU onconvenience Huldy an' Samwill 

 consid'able." 



"Taint no sech a thing," cried Huldah, sharply, indig- 

 nant and mortified. "They're jest as welcome as they 

 c'n be, an' it's them 'at's duin' us a favor. An' they look 

 jest as well as they did when they went away, an' we're 

 so glad tu hev 'em back, mother, you're aUers an' for- 

 ever a tewin'." 



"But then," continued Mi-s. Purington, serenely un- 

 mindful of this interruption, "it haint j)roberble 'at at 

 your age, you'll be spared much longer in this vale o' 

 tears." With the air of having administered consolation 

 to all concerned, she heaved a sigh of relief as she seated 

 herself at the window and lapsed for a little while into 

 silence, sadly regarding the old people who sat burning in 

 speechless discomfort till Aunt Jerusha ventured to say, 

 "The' can't nob'dy say 'at we come wi'aout bein' ast. 

 But," she added with a tremor of feiwor in her voice, 

 "the' don't nob'dy know but them 'at 's tried it, haow we 

 did wanter come. Ef they did , they would n't blame us." 



"An' they don't," said Huldah, flashing an angry glance 

 at her mother, and then shutting her lips tightly together 

 to keep back angrier words, she retreated mto the pantiy. 



"Not nob'dy 'at 's got any business tu," Sam supple- 

 mented in his quiet drawl. 



His father made a show of mending the fire and went 

 out on tiptoe for an armful of wood, having through long 

 experience learned to employ the better part of valor, 

 when a war of women's words imjDended. 



Mrs. Purington put her apron to her eyes and rocked 

 herself from side to side in silent endurance of the injuries 

 that she felt were being heaped upon her. 



"I wanter know if this 'ere is Sis Pur'nt'n?" Aunt Jeru- 

 sha asked, lifting her spectacles and looking intently at 

 the girl, who was now shielding her bashfulness behind 

 her sister, coming to the stove with a pumpkin pie. "Wal, 

 it does beat all haow she's growed. Clean up tu yer shoul- 

 der, Huldy, an' favors you an' her father. I'm glad o' 

 thet." Mrs, Purington cut short a gi-ieved snuffle with a 

 sniff of contempt. 



"So she does," Uncle Lisha assented after a critical in- 

 spection through the round-eyed glasses which he had put 

 on for this especial service, "but Huldy'schunkeder built." 



"Yis, but Sis haint got her shape yit. I tell ye she's 

 feat'red and complected like the Pur'nt'ns and not a mite 

 like the Bordense's." Mi-s. Purington sniffed again, and 

 removing the apron from her eyes gazed through the win- 

 dow upon the outer world as if it alone interested her. 



"Wal, Sis," said Uncle Lisha, "hev ye ever -went an' 

 got lost agin? What a carrummtix you'did make, tube 

 sure, a gittin' lost. But it was a mighty good job you did 

 wi'out you're knowin' 't was the best you ever done," and 

 he beamed a kindly smile upon Sam and Huldah and 

 the httle girl, whose finding had brought them together. 



Presently Mrs. Purington's vacant stare became 

 focussed on some object outside and she exclaimed in a 

 tone expressive of awakened interest in present affairs: 



"Samwd Lovel, why, fer land's sake don't ye cuddaown 

 that aire lalock, er trim it up, er suthin', so 's 't folks c'n 

 see the pass? Wal, goodness hev massy, if that aire An- 

 twine Frenchman haint a comin'. I was jest a goin' tu 

 ast Uncle Lisher and Aimt Jerushy aU abaout Westcon- 

 stant an' all the folks there, an' naow there won't be a 

 chance tu put in a word aidgeways wi' liispleggid French 

 gab. Sis, we might 's well be a goin'." 



Antoine Bissette entered without ceremony, bearing 

 such important news to Sam that for a moment he noted 

 the presence of no one else. | 



"Hey, Sam, gat you gawn, wha' you dawg? L Dey black 

 fox jes go on Bahlett hwood not more as two hour 'go. 

 Mah boy he'll seen." Then his astonished eyes became 

 aware of his old friends. "Oh-h-h! One' Lasha, Aunt 

 Jerrusha. Wa,s you be ghos' er was you be aomebodee, 

 er was Ah 'II be dream? Oh, bah gosh. Ah '11 never see 

 so, 'for 'stoneesh." 



"Good airth an' seas! Take a holt o' my han' Ann 

 Twine an' find aout whether I'm flesh an' blood," cried 

 the old cobbler, and his vise-like grasp and familiar roar 

 left no cause for doubt of his actual presence in the flesh. 



"Wal, seh, One' Lasha," said Antoine, settling himself 

 together on a chair after the rough encounter of greeting, 

 "You was felt pooty 'live anyway, an' you'll ant gat 

 great many hoi' in de wes' hose of it. No, seh. Aunt 

 Jerrusha an' you ant look no more hoi' you was free year 

 'go. Bah gosh. Ah 'II glad of it." 



"Same tu you Ann Twine, an' we're glad tu git back 

 an' hev all aour frien's glad tu see us — thet is, most on 

 'em" he added, recollecting that Mrs. Purington might 

 wish to be excepted and castmg a sidewise glance at her. 



"You need n't think 'at I begretch ye a welcome, 

 Lisher Peggs, ef I be begretched it in my own darter's 

 haouse?" she said in a grieved voice, while she puckered 

 the hem of her orange and blue calico apron between her 

 fingers. 



"Wal,' wal," said he, "Ef folks didn't talk they 

 wouldn't say nothin', an' I don't take no pride in what 

 you said," and then turned the conversation again mto 

 the pleasanter channel whence he had maladroitly diverted 

 it. 



"Wal, Ann Twine, haow's yer folks an' all the child'n"? 

 Fam'ly growin', I s'pose?" 



"Wal, Ah do' know. One' Lasha, Ah guess dey ant be 

 more as two or free of it more, sin' you'll go 'way. But 

 mah holest gal he'll gat marree, an' he'll gat bebbee, an' 

 Ah'U gat for be grrran'poupa," He rolled the "r" of this 

 new prefix to his weU accustomed title as if its flavor was 

 pleasant to his tongue, and he straighted himself proudly 

 in his seat. 



'•You a grampa," Uncle Lisha said. "Good airth an' 

 seas, man, you'll hafter let yer baird grow tu tell yerself 

 f'm yer gran'child." 



"Ah '11 can tol' it bah de nowse," Antoine laughed. 

 "He'll ant spik Angleesh yit, an' prob'ly he'll ant never 

 spik it lak Ah '11 was," he added with a sigh that had some- 

 thing of satisfaction in it. "It's hopesin' he won't," said 

 Uncle Lisha, but if Antoine understood this dispai-aging 

 remark he did not heed it, but went on: "An' Ah '11 f regit 

 for tol' you mah fam'ly been grow on f udder en' of it. 

 Mah f adder an' mudder come for leeve 'long to me," 



"What, you ben gettin' on ye a father? Was he horned, 

 tew, sen' I went away? You didn't uster liev none, an' I 

 didn't s'pose you ever hed one in thenat'i-al way, but tliey 

 kinder f aound ye in a kittle o' pea soup. " 



"Oh, One' Lasha, Ah '11 'fraid you'll ant growed gooder 

 no more as you'U grow holer. Ah '11 'fraid you'll ant go 

 to meetin's in de Wes'. Prob'ly dey 'U ant gat some dere 

 yet, hein? No, sah. One' Lasha, Sam fin' mah fader an' 

 mudder daown to de lake w'en we was go feeshin', an' it 

 was sup-prise of all of it. An' den, bombye. Ah 'U 

 have it hoi' man's an' hoF hwoman's come leeve long to 

 me an' Ursule an' Ah 'h was glad for be hable ta' care of 

 it, me." 



"Thefs right, Ann Twine," said Uncle Lisha heartily, 

 "an' don't ye never gig back on yer ol' folks." A shade 

 -of sadness flitted across the old man's kindly face and his 

 wife breathed a suppressed sigh. 



"Ah '11 goin' brovight hoi' man over for see you pooty 

 soon," Antoine went on, as he whittled a charge of home-, 

 grown tobacco from a twist and gi-ound it in his palm. 

 "An' gat you for mek it some boot, so he can beegin for 

 be Yankee. An' Ah 'U can mek you laughed for heari 

 Sam talk French at it. Bah gosh, he '11 holler at it so you 

 can hear it in de Forge w'en he goin'. An' he fink 'f he 

 can holler laoud 'nough hoi' mans can' help for on'stan, 

 prob'ly." 



"Antwine," said Sam, threatening the Canadian with 

 the empty cider tumbler, and then filling it for liim, 

 "don't ye poke no fun at my French. It's the geniwine 

 article, an' thefs the reason you Canucks don't onderstan' 

 it. Ef you was tu go tu France, you'd liear 'em arspeakin' 

 on't jest as I du." 



"If dey spik it jes' sem asyou was," said Antoine, briefly 

 disposing of the cider, "Ah can go daowm on de shore of 

 de nocean an' heard it. Wal, you'll goin' after dat black 

 fox to-day, prob'ly?" 



"Who seen it?" Sam demanded. 



' 'Joe Hill tol' me he'U seen it an' he tol' me come toll 

 you but mah 'pinion, he was lie jes' for sup-prise me of 

 One' Lasha. Wal, Ah 'U be go, naow." And having fired 

 his pipe -with a coal, he went his way, leaving a long, 

 odorous wake of rank tobacco smoke trailing far behind 

 him, 



"An' we must be goin' tu, Sis," said Mrs, Purington, "I 

 haint hed a chance tu say a word, but I must go," 



"Why no, mother," Huldah protested, "You an' Sin 

 must stay tu dinner." 



"No, no, I got tu git back an' git his dinner an' it's a 

 gittin' late, I on'y come over tu chirk ye up, as I hope I, 

 hev at last, an' ask ye all tu come over tu Thanksgivin' tu-, 

 morrer tu aour haouse. We haint goin' tu hev no gret,, 

 jest a turkey an' some high bush cranb'ry sass an' ]3unkiij 

 pie an sech, but sech as 'tis we want ye tu jine us, all on ye." 



"We wa'n't cal'latin' tu go home this j'ear nor no; 

 wheres," Huldy began faintly objecting. 



"Wal, you got tu come. He's clean sot on it an' jqx 

 must come. Aunt Jerushy an' Uncle Ligher, we wantth( 

 privilege o' fiUin' ye up tu start on -wi' sech as we've gcriz 

 An' you must come tew, Timothy." 



There was general assent, and so having made hospit- ' 

 able amends for the discomfort she had created, she de- 

 parted. Panting as she gathered headway in her course 

 across lots, she reminded Uncle Lisha vividly of the fussy | 

 little steamer that towed him to the last port of his recent I 

 voyage. Rowland E. Eobinson. j 

 Ferkisbuegh, yt- 



The Hotel Dukinfield. 



We have learned with regret of the burning of Dr. W. 

 E, Capeharf s large and comfortable Hotel Dukinfield at 

 Avoca, N. C, Many Northern sportsmen Avho had visited 

 this place and enjoyed the surroundings and the pleasant 

 people to be met there will feel a sincere sorrow to learn 

 of the misfortune. It is to be hoped that the hotel wiL 

 be rebuilt, for it was vei-y favorably located and remarka- 

 bly well kept. 



