S10 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April 14, 1894. 



DANVIS FOLKS.-XXVII. 



Under Clear Skies. 



As with, swift strides that seemed too slow to carry 

 home the good news to its inmates Sam topped the crest 

 of a pasture knoll, he became aware of a familiar odor of 

 rank tobacco too late to avoid its source, for in the next 

 moment he was confronted by Antoine making a short 

 cut homeward from his day's chopping. 



"Hill-o, Sam. Dat was you, don't it. Wal, Ah '11 ant 

 s'pose prob'ly you'll felt for went huntin'. Wal, you do 

 pooty good for gat dat fox. Say, Sam, ant he too bad 

 baout dat Bascoms howe up everee body an' rim hesef 

 away. Dat was too shem. Dey say dat poor hoi Buttle 

 gal mos' crazy in hees head for loss hees two bonded 

 dollar, an' de widder Needham mos' as crazy for glad she 

 ant marree it, and, seh, dey was tol' dey was constubble 

 you all up, an' was goin' f or^sol' you all aout. But it was 

 mek you felt good yet for get dat fox ant he? You was 

 look pooty good nachel, hein? Ah tol' you, Ah was felt 

 bad for you, Sam, an' all of it. What all we goin' do if 

 One' Lasha broke off hees shaup for loafin' place, hein? 

 Mees Purimtim say he'll gat for go on taown, an' Aunt 

 Jerrushy. O, dat was too shem. Ah tol' you Sam, if 

 Ah '11 can fan all de money dat hoi feller bury Ah '11 len 1 

 you of it an' set you all up." 



"I'm 'bleeged tu ye, Antwine," Sam answered at the 

 first opportunity given him, "but I guess I'm goin' tu git 

 things straightened aout an' I shouldn't wonder ef we 

 c'ld continner right on a-hevin' settin's in the shop. But 

 Pve got to be a-moggin; good evenin'," and he pushed on, 

 leaving the Canadian staring after him, for once in his 

 life speechless with wonder, till he ejaculated with a deep- 

 drawn sigh: 



"Ah b'lieved he was be so troublesomed it mek it crazy 

 in hees head. Ah dat was too bad for heem." Over- 

 whelmed by a sudden suspicion he exclaimed, "By tun- 

 der! Ah bet he fan dat money. Dat too bad for me." 



When Sam saw his own house light shining through 

 the early autumnal gloaming, chimney and roof taking 

 form against the hazy sky and nebulous glimmer of re- 

 lighted stars, and traced the dusky slopes and swells of 

 meadow and pasture, they had never seemed so dear as 

 now with the sense of re-established possession. 



Now he could see Huldah appear at one of the kitchen 

 windows whose welcoming light he had seen on the hill 

 afar, and knew she was looking out for him as she doubt- 

 less had done for countless times since the shadows began 

 to blend with the hazy twilight, and the crickets, warmed 

 to life again, chirped faintly in farewell concert. 



Huldah's face, sadly sobered of late, brightened at the 

 sight of her husband's, and its brightness was mingled 

 with surprise when she noted its unexpected cheerf ulness. 



"Why, Sam, you must ha' had 'stror'nary luck a-huntin' 

 erless you faoun' a better farm 'an what you expected tu, 

 up in the maQuntain." 



"I hev hed a streak o' luck in the woods ag'in, Huldy," 

 he said; and when he had hung up his gun and kissed his 

 boy, he beckoned her to the bedroom and told her his 

 story. 



Aunt J erusha's face, sober almost to sadness, yet calm 

 with the peace conquered in many trials, met his in ques- 

 tioning surprise and caught a reflection of its renewed 

 cheerfulness as he passed her, saying: 



"I've fetched home good news, Aunt Jerushy, Huldy 

 '11 tell ye;" and going into the shop he imparted it to his 

 father and Uncle Lisha. 



Before the evening was far spent, Pelatiah, Joseph Hill 

 and Solon came in, assuming a cheerf ulness of speech that 

 their funereal faces belied. Influenced by the happy, 

 care-free manner pervading the shop, the old comrades 

 drifted into the familiar channels of discourse. A t length, 

 unable longer to restrain his curiosity, Solon said : 



"Samule, we come in tu express aour symptoms, it 

 bein' onderstood quite gin'ral 'at you had got revolved 

 pecuniary wi' that aire Bascom, an' him hevin' absquate- 

 lated." 



"We've felt dreffly 'baout it up tu aour haouse," Joseph 

 broke in with his deliberate drawl. "I tol' Mari' 'at I 

 do' know 's I ever hearn father talk so much abaout any- 

 thin' 'thaout 't was Ticonderogue, an' he 's cussed Bascom 

 baout as bad as he ever did Tories. Seem 's 'ough, but I 

 d' know." 



"By gin'ral hints," Solon continued, "sence we here 

 assembled I've gethered 'at you've ben reimbusted. Be 

 we so tu onderstan' it, an' ef so wherefore an' why fore?" 



Sam tilted his chair backward, stretched his legs 

 straight out before him, clasped his hands behind his 

 head and fixed his eyes upon the dingy ceiling. 



"Mebby," he said after a considerable pause, during 

 which the hum of the women's voices, his father's careful 

 feeding of the stove and the clatter of the baby's play- 

 things could be heard in the kitchen, "Mebby I've got a 

 rich uncle 'at you never heard on, an' mebby I've busted 

 intu a bank an' mebby I've faoun' a ore bed hendy tu the 

 Forge, an' mebby I've diskivered perpet'al motion. Bimeby 

 you '11 know, but take my word for 't, things is all right 

 an' we're goin' tu keep right on a-visitin' in this ere shop. 

 But the's one thing we do' wanter f ergit, the fust run o' 

 sleddin' at' we git, an' that is tu all ban's turn aout an' 

 draw up them Buttles gals a big wood pile. They've lost 

 all the' savin's an' haint got no rich uncle. An' now I've 

 got tu git that boy tu sleep." 



The lives of the Danvis Folks resumed their ordinary 

 tranquil course. 



For me, Time has touched them as lightly as it has the 

 crowns of their own mountains, which centuries have not 

 changed. 



I find myself forgetful of the lapse of fifty years, think- 

 ing of my old friends as yet alive, preserving the quaint- 

 ness of speech, the homely pastimes, the simplicity of 

 dress and manners and above all the neighborly kindness 

 that belonged to their day and generation, untouched by 

 the strifes and ambitions and changes of the busy world 

 that chafes and beats around them, and without a desire 

 for a part therein. 



The uneventful day is spent. The shadows of the moun- 

 tains and the early twilight creep across the quiet valley. 



Out of the dusk and deepening gloom homestead fights 



shine forth like stars in a nether sky and after a time go 

 out, one by one. 



I cannot say farewell as if the lights of my old friends 

 were extinguished forever, but only good night. 



Rowland E. Robinson. 



Fbrrisbukgh, Yt. 



ALONG THE MINNESOTA RIVER. 



Years ago, when the "Twin Cities" were infants in 

 swaddling clothes, when Fort Snelling existed in much 

 of its primitive picturesqueness ere the incoming tide of 

 immigration had peopled the surrounding territory, 

 drained the sloughs and marshes and transformed the 

 boundless prairies into cultivated farms, when ducks in 

 countless numbers swarmed on lakes and ponds that were 

 found in every valley and hollow along this river, when 

 the "scaipe" of the gamy little snipe was heard at almost 

 every footstep as we tramped the marshes, when our 

 pointers and setters could still find prairie chicken within 

 the now limits of the two cities. 



A bright day in October, in this halcyon time, my 

 friend P. and myself set out for one of our favorite re- 

 sorts, on the Minnesota River. Leaving home on the C. 

 M. & St. P. R. R. we were soon at Fort Snelling, where 

 the Minnesota merges itself in the "Father of Waters." 



Crossing on the old ferry we soon had out our birch 

 bark canoe, bought on a previous trip for the munificent 

 sum of four dollars from a degenerate son of the noble 

 redman, whose tribe had their, lodges at the nearby vil- 

 lage of Mendota, the long-time home of the late General 

 Sibley, a pioneer famous in the early history of Minnesota 

 and afterward Governor of the State. Its resting place 

 had been in the old ferryman's poultry house. A careful 

 examination showed us that before trusting ourselves in 

 our frail bark sundry repairs would be necessary, but we 

 were prepared for this emergency, sad experiences in 

 the past having taught wisdom, and with the pitch and 

 tow brought for the purpose we soon had the cracks and 

 seams patched and our craft was pronounced seaworthy. 



Launching the canoe, after filling it about half full of 

 straw upon which we spread a rubber blanket, lunch 

 basket and other traps were snugly stowed away, and 

 with guns handy for a chance shot, our voyage up the 

 river began. The Minnesota River is a pretty stream as it 

 winds its way with many a twist and turn; its banks are 

 low and fringed with bushes and trees; most of the foliage 

 is gone now, but the bare trunks and limbs are almost 

 concealed by the tangled mass of vines and creepers; an 

 overhanging tree is encircled by a huge wild grapevine, 

 and from the limbs hang immense quantities of grapes. 

 The sunshine and frost have given them a delicious flavor, 

 and we have but to steady our boat and reach up to gather 

 all we wish. The hardy scrub oak still retains its dark 

 green leaves, which mingled with the clusters of berries 

 of the bittersweet form a pretty picture. Wild plums, 

 cherries and the brilliant red of thorn apples, add to the 

 beauty of the scenery and afford feasts for countless birds 

 of all varieties, that, thronging their branches, give life 

 and music to the charm of our surroundings. 



The profusion of berries had tempted here many of the 

 most rare and beautiful birds. The tanager, who had 

 changed his spring jacket of scarlet, was still beautiful in 

 his summer tints of green and yellow; an oriole clothed 

 in bright orange and black still lingered; the golden- 

 winged woodpecker, the belted kingfisher, the gaudy but 

 disagreeably noisy bluejay, tiny warblers of all kinds, 

 were here, while from the adjacent marshes rose thou- 

 sands of blackbirds, from the common every-day, plain 

 blackbird to red-winged starling, and the yellow-headed, 

 the handsomest of all varieties. Animal life was not 

 confined to birds alone. Every now and then the stillness 

 of the river was broken by the plunge of a muskrat; 

 squirrels, gray, black and red, chattered defiance, and as 

 we silently rounded a bend, an otter was seen gracefully 

 sliding down the bank into the water. The stream is 

 sluggish, and our light boat moves so easily that I have 

 dropped my paddle, leaving the work for P., who is an 

 adept in the business, and have been lazily smoking my 

 pipe and enjoying the many pleasant sights and incidents, 

 but we are to leave the river, and have some hard work 

 before us. 



A tiny little brook comes in here, too small to float a 

 boat at its mouth, but up it we must go. The beauties 

 of a birch bark are now shown; a quarter of a mile up, 

 the stream widens out and is deeper and for a short dis- 

 tance a boat will float. A short carry along an old wood 

 road, with a corduroy bridge across the stream is soon 

 made, the lightness of our boat making it an easy one, 

 and we are again afloat but with so little water under us 

 that the boat will only carry one, and that one will have 

 to wade and drag the boat half the time. P. kindly vol- 

 unteers and is generally allowed the honor; with my gun 

 I stroll through the woods for perhaps a mile as the creek 

 winds and turns, though really our destination is less than 

 a mile from the river. Coming again to the boat at the 

 end of the woods I re-embark; the stream is now swift 

 and deep, running through vast beds r ,of wild rice with 

 many a turn that brings us at last into an open bit of 

 water, dotted all over with clumps of grass and wild rice. 

 Before leaving this spot we push a pole into the soft mud 

 and tie a handkerchief to it, as without this landmark 

 the opening to the creek may be sought for unsuccessfully 

 for hours. 



Selecting a well known spot, in the usual line of flight, 

 our little boat is pushed well into the rice, the broken and 

 bent stalks are straightened up and bent around and over 

 the boat until our blind is perfect. 



The day has been bright and warm so far, but as the 

 morning grows into afternoon there comes a little cloudi- 

 ness, a suspicion of what later in the season might be 

 snow; all the better for ducks we think, for ducks are 

 what we are after, and, as the sequel proved, ducks we 

 were to get. We had not long to wait; they came early 

 and stayed late. First came a flock of blue- winged teal; 

 a right and left from P. with a miss and kill from myself 

 brought three of them to bag, and the ball was opened; 

 then for an hour or more flock after flock of teal flashed 

 by, the air was full of them and they fell to the right of 

 us and to the left. As there came a lull in the flight, we 

 moved out from the rice and picked up the dead birds, 

 and a goodly number we had. 



Hardly had we regained the shelter of our blind before 

 the birds began coming in again, and now came mallards, 

 bluebills and black ducks. We were more particular now 

 and picked out the birds we wanted, leaving the rest to 

 pass by unharmed. Large flocks of the lesser ducks 

 would settle in the water near us, only to take wing 



again as our guns spoke to some of their more aristocratic 

 brethren, but although "man may make the forenoon, 

 God makes the afternoon," as a dear old hunting compan- 

 ion used to say, and we have got to get through the creek 

 before dark, and the river is a long way off, so we hasten 

 to gather up the last birds shot and find our way to the 

 head of the creek. We cannot see our pole, but we go to 

 where we know it is, and it is not there; the openings all 

 look alike to us and we paddle from one to the other, 

 every now and then sure that we have found it, but after 

 paddling a while only bringing up in a cul de sac. 



•The twilight is short and we know that darkness will 

 soon overtake us. Something must be done. The shores 

 are entirely surrounded with a dense growth of wild rice 

 through which we cannot get our boat, neither can we 

 get ourselves through without the boat. The dismal 

 prospect of spending the night in the little canoe begins 

 to force itself upon our minds; we have about given up 

 hope of finding the creek, thinking as it proved that our 

 pole had fallen. Looking toward the west the reflection 

 of the dying sun enables us to see some objects, but 

 around us it is rapidly growing from dusk to darkness, 

 still we somewhat mechanically keep our paddles going 

 while the situation is discussed. Guiding the boat close 

 to the margin of rice, hoping to find some opening 

 through which we can reach solid ground, our hopes are 

 partially realized; we find a rock way out in this marsh, 

 a rock large enough to land upon, and our long confine- 

 ment in the boat makes us mighty glad to stretch our 

 limbs on this bit of ground. 



Landing, we pull the canoe up and secure it, then ex- 

 plore a little. We seem to be on an island, three sides are 

 surrounded by water, the fourth seems to be a very wet 

 meadow, over which in daylight we could probably make 

 our way, but it is not to be thought of at this this time as 

 these wild meadows, marshes, which at times are dry 

 enough to cut the grass upon, are treacherous; water 

 holes abound and the upper crust is thin, you may stand 

 upon it in places and shake whole acres, but not far from 

 us we see a haystack; this we will reach. We go to it and 

 find it in rather a wet place, so return to our rock of 

 refuge, each with a large armful of dry hay; we light 

 some of it, and by the blaze see the extent of our dominion, 

 and also that a fallen tree, the only one probably that 

 ever stood there, will furnish us fuel, A fire is soon built, 

 the coffee-pot put to boil, a couple of ducks skinned (as 

 the easiest way of preparing them) and broiled. After 

 the inner man is satisfied we feel better and set about pro- 

 viding beds; another trip to the haystack and enough is 

 provided to soften the rock; a crevice some two feet deep 

 and a foot in width in our rock furnishes us with a fire- 

 place, into which the remains of our fire are swept; the 

 rock has been heated by the fire and our beds soon occupy 

 the spot; our only blanket, the rubber one in the canoe, is 

 fastened up about two feet high over our beds and we 

 crawl in, first replenishing the fire and providing more 

 wood, for the night is cold. 



Our work has taken time; it is nearly 11 o'clock and we 

 are weary; we do not have to woo the drowsy god, he is 

 waiting for us and folds us in his arms and wraps his 

 mantle around us, and we sleep as quietly as an infant in 

 its mother's arms; but after a couple of hours I awake 

 with the sensation that my feet and legs must be frozen. 

 As I rouse up and rebuild the fire, I notice that a quantity 

 of loose flat stones where our fire has been have become 

 thoroughly heated. With thick gloves I secured a num- 

 ber of them. Then building up a good fire I returned to 

 bed, and placing the heated stones around me become 

 warmed through and sleep soundly until morning. The 

 thick white frost over everything in the morning gives 

 evidence of the coldness of the night; but we have not suf- 

 fered. Our breakfast, a repetition of our supper, is pre- 

 pared and finished before daylight. 



Long .before the eye can discern them the whistling 

 wings of the early incoming ducks make music for our 

 ears, and ever and anon countless shadowy forms darken, 

 for a moment the faint line of color which appears her- 

 alding the coming of the day god, and slowly widens and 

 spreads over the horizon until the whole eastern sky be- 

 comes one mass of rose-tinted flame. The water beneath 

 us, covered with myriads of birds, reflects the colors of 

 the heavens, and the twilight of early morning is dis- 

 pelled by the glories of the rising sun. We lie and watch 

 the birds silently as we smoke our pipes, and find as much 

 enjoyment in noting their ways as we had the day before 

 in bringing them to bag. 4 The true sportsman is not a 

 game butcher and does not find all his pleasure in the 

 mere killing of game, noting the many different varie- 

 ties, studying their habits and learning of nature its 

 part, if not the highest part, of his enjoyment. 



It is Sunday morning. We do not usually shoot on 

 Sundays and do not care to this morning; we have birds 

 enough, and the charm of everything about us seems too 

 sweet to be rudely broken. After a time we silently un- 

 fasten our boat, and hardly ruffling the water, glide softly 

 over it, but our appearance is the signal for alarm, and with 

 great commotion and fluttering the birds are on the wing, 

 We readily find the creek in the daylight, and are soon 

 through it and back in the river; the slow current carries 

 us quietly along, and we reach the ferry about noon. We 

 have loitered idly by the way, and consumed much time, 

 but the hours have not been wasted, and we shall never 

 regret them; we have been alone with nature's God and 

 have learned lessons that will not be forgotten; we have 

 gained in health by our outing, and can take up the battle 

 of life with new courage and faith. If we have done no 

 good, we have at least done no harm, and is not that day 

 well spent wherein we can say "we have nothing to 

 regret?" Go thou, reader, and do likewise: 



"If thou art worn and hard beset 

 With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, 

 If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep 

 Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 

 Go to the woods and hills ! — No tears 

 Dim the sweet look that Nature wears." 



Everett O'Donnell. 



The Better Way. 



TSditor Forest and Stream: 



Bravo for Rowland E. Robinson! To have the true-hearted hunter, 

 SamLovel, escape his threatened ruin in the fragrant forests of his' 

 beloved mountains is a far better ending to his troubles than to pursuej 

 the man that wronged him, and with "or ore bed" end the chase with 

 a homicide. Horace B. Debby, 



Alb ant, N. Y, 



