410 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May S3, 1896. 
UNCLE LISHA'S OUTING.-XXII. 
Women's Day. 
THE full light of morning had chased the shadows from 
the camp and even possessed the recesses of the tent when 
the drowsy inmates awoke and crept forth yawning and 
shivering in the unsunned air until the rekindled fire 
warmed them. 
Then the women folks got the tidiest breakfast the 
camp had ever known, and when all save Antoine, who 
sulked on his faded laurels, had eaten it with great relish, 
Huldah went out and feasted her eyes full of the wonder 
and beauty of the lake, where it doubled painted shores 
in the glassy mirror of near waters, its far expanse melt- 
ing into ethereal hills and further sky, where distant 
islands hung in the blended azure. 
Then while Joseph and Antoine, forlorn bachelors by 
brevet, kept camp, the reunited couples embarked in the 
scow for a cruise along the shore of the bay. 
The experience gained while voyaging on the canal and 
the Western lakes put Aunt Jerusha quite at ease on these 
quiet waters, and with such an example before her 
Huldah was too proud to show any trepidation and too 
sensible to affect it. 
"Wal, Huldy," said Uncle Lisha, watching her as he 
steered while Sam wielded the oars, "you be a nat'ral 
born sailor, an' you never in a boat before, I'll warrant. 
Why don't you jump 'raound and equak ev' time the boat 
jiggles?" 
"Why, I hain't no time tu, the's so much tu look at," 
said she, her eyes roving far and near over the unfamiliar 
landscape. "Hain't them pine trees? We don't hev no 
sech tu borne. An' if there hain't the Hump, for there 
can't be no other like it— an' hain't that 'Tater Hill? My, 
what a ways off they be, so blue they don't look much 
nigher'n the sky. I should hate tu live so far from 'em 
all the time. Oh, look at that boat, an' hain't that a black 
man in it? It sartainly is," and she pointed across and 
up stream to where Jim was paddling out of his marshy 
harbor. 
"Why, yes," said Uncle Lisha, "that's one o' your hus- 
band's friends, Huldy. You'd admire tu see what com- 
p'ny he keeps when he's daown here— Injins an' niggers 
an' I do' know what all." 
"Quakers an' lawyers an' shoemakers," Sam supple- 
mented. 
"An' you hain't no idee what cadidoes he cuts up," the 
old man continued, regarding his audience with a solemn 
countenance, "a-fishin' leetle boys aouten the crik, an' 
wus8 5 n all, what you don't never want tu tell nobody, 
a-helpin' Quakers steal runaway niggers away f 'm the' 
owners. Yes, sir, he done it an' he da's n't deny it," and 
Uncle Lisha frowned benignly on the culprit. 
"Why, Samwil," Huldah said, in a low voice and 
beaming affection and admiration upon her husband, 
while Aunt Jerusha laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. 
"Wal, no wonder both on ye's mad an' he 'shamed, 
but we won't tell on 't if he don't du it ag'in," said Uncle 
Lisha. 
"Sho, Uncle Lisher, what nonsense hev you be'n 
a s'misin' up?" Sam demanded, with a bold assumption of 
innocence. 
"Good airth an' seas, boy I don't ye s'pose I know brand 
when the bag 'sontied? Wha'd ye go over tu that Canuck's 
boat for? Sellin' apples proberbly. Wha'd ye kerry them 
ducks up tu Bartlett's for? Thought they was starvin' 
proberbly. What made ye so tickled when ye seen the 
Canuck boat p'intin' for Canerdy? Tumble glad tu git red 
on him, wa'n't ye? Oh, you be almighty cunning hain't ye?" 
Sam's downcast eyes discovered something on the boat's 
bottom which promised a change of the subject of con- 
versation. 
"Why, if there hain't a trollin' line an* hook wi' a piece 
o' pork rin' an' red rag on t all rigged for fishin'. It must 
be Antwine had it, but I don't know when. You put it 
aout, Huldy, an' mebby you c'n ketch a pickerel." 
"Me? My goodness, I couldn't never. I've ketched 
traouts, but I can't never ketch a Ipickerel, I know. 
Wouldn't I feel big tu, though?" 
The line was let out, the boat was slowed down to the 
proper rate of speed as it skirted the channel, and Huldah 
held, the hand line with a grip that showed a determina- 
tion to be hauled overboard rather than relinquish it. 
When the boat reached the mouth of the creek her reso- 
lution seemed about to be tested, for the line tightened 
suddenly with a jerk that drew her arms out to their ut- 
most stretch. 
"Whoal; whoa! Back up your waggin, Sam," she cried. 
"I've got ketched on a lawg or the hull bottom of the 
river." 
"You hain't nuther!:" shouted Uncle Lisha, at once 
recognizing the cause of the intermittent strain. "It's a 
fish, an' an ol' solaker. Pull stiddy, Huldy, stiddy. O, 
good airth an' seas! If you c'n on'y git him! Keep a 
tight line on him!" 
"I sh'ld think he was a-doin' that," said Huldah, her 
voice shaking by the beating of her heart, though she 
presented an outside appearance of coolness. Foot by 
fpot the big pickerel was drawn toward the boat, till the 
cold gleam of his wicked eyes could be seen, and then by 
Uncle Lisha's direction he was given line, then hauled in 
again till the old man could get a grip on his gills and 
toss him into the boat. Huldah gave a great gasp of 
relief and was ready to cry for pride, when Sam swung 
his hat aud gave a lusty cheer that was echoed by Jim, 
who had been watching the struggle and now came pad- 
dling over, jerking his head and laughing and offering 
congratulations while yet 20 rods away. 
"I tell ye what, Mr. Lovel, he is a good one!" 
Jim cried, as he ran his canoe alongside the scow and 
looked at the fish with a sort of proprietary pride and 
with almost as much satisfaction as if he had caught it. 
"Yes, sir, he is a good one, Mr. Lovel. Is it Mis' Lovel 
'at ketched him? Well, ma'am, you handled him just as 
well as ever I see anybody. Yes, sir, you did. Couldn't 
no man done better— couldn't myself. Naow, if you want 
tu try it, you might troll aout raound the island. Mighty 
good place that is for ol' big fellers," and Jim empha- 
sized every item of praise and advice by a jerk of the 
head, continuing both till the crew of the scow passed 
out of hearing, and Huldah remarked, still gloating over 
her captive: 
"Wal, Uncle Lisher, Samwil might find wus comp'ny, 
for he 'pears tu be a real sensible, candid sort of a man." 
When they entered the lake Aunt Jerusha was induced 
by much persuasion to take the line and a chance of dis- 
tinguishing herself. She held it anxiously and under 
continual protest of inability to do so at ail. 
"I can't hold it so 't any fish'll ever bite, I know I 
can't. If anything gits a holt of it I shall lose it, I know 
I shall. You'd better take it, Huldy; you've got used to 't! 
There! There! There's suthin' a nibblin'!* Mo, the' 
hain't nuther. I knowed the' wouldn't nothin', never! 
My land! The' is tew! Lisher, Samwil, Huldy! I've got 
him. He'll git away! He'll pull me in!" 
With frequent abortive snatches at it, she frantically 
hauled in the line, that yielded to her spasmodic efforts 
with a heavy, sluggish resistance. Uncle Lisha uncon- 
sciously lifted the paddle from the water, Sam quit row- 
ing and Huldah withdrew her admiring gaze from the 
fish at her feet, and the three spectators watched the 
struggle with intense interest. 
"Lisher Paiggs," cried Aunt Jerusha with unusual 
sharpness, "why don't you take a holt an' help me stid o' 
settin' there like a scairt fool?" 
In ready obedience to this demand, Uncle Lisha under- 
run the line with the paddle and brought it to hand, and 
then slowly and carefully hauled it in till, reaching down 
to the surface, he lifted the burdened hook and swung 
inboard a big clam. 
"Wal, ol' woman," said he, collapsing from high expec- 
tation to deep disgust, "you hev done it, hain't ye?" 
With his knife he loosened the vice-like grip of the mus- 
sel and was about to toss it overboard. 
"Here, don't ye never, Lisher Paiggs," cried Aunt 
Jerusha, suddenly recovering speech; "you gi' me that. 
It's jest what I wanted." 
"Good airth an' seas, Jerushy, wha'd ye want on't? 
You can't eat one on 'em no more you could a chunk o' 
soaked so' hither." 
"No more, I don't want tu. You jest clean the meat 
aout on't an' heave it away an' gi' me the shells. There," 
she continued when possessed of them, and holding them 
up she regarded them with unaffected admiration, "them's 
jest what I be'n a wantin' ever sen I be'n a haousekeepin', 
for they be the completest thing tu scrape aout a kittle 
an' tu skim milk an' tu scoop sugar 'at ever was. Mother 
hed some 'at she fetched f'm Rhode Man', an' I've alius 
be'n a wantin' tu git a holt o' some. Naow I've got 'em, 
an' I'd a great sight druther hev 'em 'an a fish 'at '11 be 
eat right up. Naow, Lisher, you heave that 'ere fishin' 
thingumbob int' the water ag'in an' I'll ketch Huldy some 
clam shells." 
Aunt Jerusha did not succeed in fulfilling this benevo- 
lent intention, for they were now in deep water, but as 
they coasted along the gray southern wall of Garden 
Island she was thrown into a second fever of excitement 
by a livelier tug at the line. This time it was a pickerel, 
which, by dint of stout tackle and good fortune, was 
brought to boat, and in spite of her protested indifference 
to such a capture, she rejoiced over it exceedingly. 
They landed on the island, and with Sam acting as 
guide explored its interior. The garden-like bloom of its 
shrubbery no longer verified the island's name, but there 
were evidences of it in the abundant black clusters of vi- 
burnum berries and scarlet haws of wild roses, and there 
were yet enough blue and white blossoms of asters to 
make the place pleasant to flower-loving women. 
The money diggers' pit in the center of the island was 
a place of interest to the men, for whom a hole in the 
ground always has a fascination. Then all went over to 
the east end, where Aunt Jerusha found some stranded 
clam shells for Huldah, cleaner and brighter than her 
own, and all found arrow points of flint on the narrow 
strip of gravelly beach. 
"It does beat all natur' haow the critters made 'emt" 
said Uncle Lisher, a-pondering over" a handsome horn- 
stone arrow-head. " We couldn't, wi' all the tools we got, 
an' I hearn an ol' feller tell aout West 'at the Injins done 
it wi' a sort o' bone thingumajig, jest by pushin' on't 
with the hand, an' he claimed he'd seen 'em at it, but I d' 
know 'baout it. That 'ere 'd make a tolPable good gun 
flint, an' I guess I'll keep it. An' naow," he continued, 
after trying the flint with his knife and pocketing both, 
*'if you've looked at posies an' cur'osities long enough le's 
go over int' the bay yunder an' g' up tu the haouse where 
I was yist'day an' git some apples for the women folks. 
They're dre'df'l clever folks up there." 
This plan being approved, the party voyaged across the 
tranquil bay, and then making a detour to avoid the 
realm of the warlike old Spaniard, went across the fields 
to the house. 
As they drew near they sniffed a familiarly pleasant 
and pungent odor of smoke and lye which led them to an 
outdoor fire where Uncle Lisha's yesterday's acquaintance 
was boiling soap. Uncle Lisha introduced his compan- 
ions, who were cordially welcomed by the mistress, with- 
out an apology for the man's hat and coat she wore, except 
to say: 
"If you ever made soap you know folks don't want tu 
dress up much for it, an' you c'n see I hain't." 
"I guess you don't want tu," said Aunt Jerusha, sym- 
pathetically. "It is turrible messin' clarifyin' the grease, 
an' the lye '11 take the color aout'n eve'y thing it teches." 
"An' so onsartain," Huldah added. "You never know 
whether it's a-goin' tu be soap." 
"I know it," cried the housewife. "It is the provokinest! 
Your lye '11 bear an aig like a cork, an' your grease '11 be 
all right, an' yit they won't be soap. I wonder what's 
come of my man. If you men folks could find him mebby 
it 'ould be more interestin' 'an aour gabhin'. He went tu 
git some chunks. Soap-b'ilin' 's a good time tu burn up 
chunks. Gid— Gid-eon! where be ye? I guess he'll 
come," she said, after listening a moment; and then re- 
turning to the subject of soap making, "Some says it's 
'cause the wind 's north, but I do' know. Anyways, it 
does act onaccoun table." 
"I believe the witches or the 01' Cat hisself gits into 't," 
Aunt Jerusha declared. 
"Same as intu cream sometimes," said Huldah. "Solon 
Briggs says 'at a piece o' silver money '11 drive the witches 
aout o' that, an' mebby it 'ould aout of soap." 
"Wal, I'm goin' tu see whether it's soap or not," the 
soapmaker said, tucking her dress between her knees, 
pulling her hat over her eyes, and blowing the steam away 
while she dipped a few spoonfuls of the contents of the 
kettle into an old saucer. This she stirred and cooled with 
her breath, watching it anxiously, while her feminine 
Suests looked on with almost as much interest as the liquid 
ribbled in a thin stream from the spoon. 
"Mebby they was beech ashes," Uncle Lisha suggested, 
regarding it and the disappointed and vexed face of the 
matron. 
"No, they was most all ellum," she answered. "Plague 
on 't, it don't look like nothin'." 
"Wal, the' hain't no better ashes than ellum, so it ain't 
that," said the old man. 
"Try a leetle dash o' water in 't," Aunt Jerusha sug- 
gested, and when this was done the liquid at once 
thickened in the saucer and the face of the fair soap- 
maker relaxed to an expression of supreme satisfaction, 
which was sympathetically repeated in the countenances 
of her visitors. 
Gideon now appeared with an armful of refractory out- 
casts from the woodpile and the little girls at his heels. 
He was introduced in the same breath that the good tid- 
ings were communicated to him, and he rejoiced also, 
while the little girls silently welcomed their doughty old 
champion with bashful smiles and nibbling finger tips and 
apron corners, shyly made the acquaintance of his com- 
panions. 
When the guests were comforted with apples and stayed 
with flagons, they went over to the ferry harbor and be- 
held with intense admiration that maritime wonder, the 
horse boat, arrive and depart. Uncle Lisha recounted 
once more to Aunt Jerusha's willing ears the events of his 
life as a soldier, and she was proud to be on the very 
ground where he began his military career and declared 
with great satisfaction: "This was 'nough tu pay her for 
comin'," while Sam and Huldah were so much interested 
the old man felt himself quite a hero. 
Then they strolled back to their own humble craft and 
coasted along shore toward camp, Long before they saw 
his figure idly pacing the beach they heard Antoine's 
sonorous voice doing its best with some words of the 
"Exile of Erin" which' he had picked up somewhere: 
"Dar come on de beach a poor eggshell of heron, 
De dew on hees chin rub it heavy an' chill." 
He was at the landing to receive them and was profuse 
in his compliments to the anglers when their trophies 
were shown him. 
"Bah gosh. Aunt Jerrushy ! Bah t'under, Ma'am Huldy ! 
You bose of it beat One' Lashy an' Zhozeff an' Sam for 
feesh, an' 'mos' me, w'en Ah a'n't try. Prob'Jy if Ah'll 
was go wid you, you ketch lot of it. But you do pooty 
good, Ahtol' you." 
"Yes, they did sartain," said Uncle Lisha. "An' you'd 
ort tu seen her haul in a clam. He fit like a good feller, 
but 't wa'n't no use, the ol' woman was tew much many 
for him an' she muckled him. An' both women's a heap 
better sailors 'an Jozeff is." 
"Zhozeff," said Antoine, with supreme contempt, "Ah'll 
was jes' soon try for mek feesh walk on de graoun' as for 
mek Zhozeff be sailor mans. An' all de tarn we keep 
haouse to-day he worry, worry for 'fraid you be draown' 
on de lake." 
The next morning the preparative bustle of departure 
began, and though no one openly confessed it, each felt 
a shade of sadness as the place grew bare and desolate 
where such pleasant hours had been spent. 
"It beats all natur' haow a feller gits wonted tu a place 
where he's hed a good time, an' hates tu leave it," Sam 
said, as he turned away, "but it's hopesin' we'll come 
ag'in." 
"What's sass for gander 's sass for goose, an' when you 
come ag'in I'm a-comin' tew," said Huldah decidedly. 
"If de whomans was comin', Ah'll a'n't, me," Antoine 
declared, "it was spile up all de funs for try for live too 
pooty." 
"Wal," Uncle Lisha sighed, "it hain't noways likely 'at 
I'll ever come ag'in." 
"But if ye du, Lisher, I'm a-comin' tew," Aunt Jerusha 
said, as they departed. 
The last ember snapped out in dull explosion and the last 
thin wisp of smoke dissolved in the colorless air, and amid 
the silence of desertion the falling leaves began the slow 
obliteration of a living place of man's transitory sojourn, 
Rowland E. Robinson. 
LABRADOR SKETCHES —I. 
My Pastor. 
It was Jan. 23, 189—. The weather was dreadful, the 
cold intense and the gale howled through the woods in 
which I was camped, breaking off in its gusts the tops of 
the spruce trees already bending under the weight of the 
snow. One would hardly have thought of putting a wild 
animal out of doors. • 
Lying down in my tent, luxuriously stretched out on a 
couch made of the flexible branches of the balsam fir, with 
my feet close to the stove, whence spread a delightful heat 
through my cotton house, made wind proof by the snow 
piled up around it, I listened to the gale as it roared past 
me and I dreamed — of nothing in particular. 
Suddenly the door of the tent was quickly pulled open 
and a mass of ice threw itself toward the stove, whose 
heat it seemed anxious to monopolize. Soon it bt gan to 
thaw and as the mask of ice disappeared I managed to 
make out a light-brown beard, eyes of the same hue and 
hair of a deeper shade. I watched the metamorphosis in 
silence, merely sitting up to fill the stove with fuel to in- 
crease the heat and hasten the thawing out of the frozen 
personage before me. 
At last, as the snow and ice melted away, I recognized 
the features of a fellow hunter, of a friend who was and 
is very dear to me. 
"Hello! is it you?" 
"Yes, it is I," replied my pastor, for he it was. 
"Well, Monsieur le cure, have you come to trap along 
my line? There are still some martens left." 
"No, I am attending to my mission." 
^Your mission" — I thought he was mad. "Do you 
think there are any chapels along my line of traps, or 
have you come to convert me? If fo, you have chosen a 
nice time for it." 
He seemed slightly embarrassed and then he smiled 
and asked me whether I had anything to eat. I told him 
I had a hare, a partridge and some trout which I would 
cook for him if he would take some of my whisky first. 
He took a mouthful and lay down on my bed, where in 
an instant he was fast asleep. 
During my culinary operations and while the partridge 
was roasting and the water for the tea boiling, I watched 
my sleeping friend. Abbe N. is a young man, barely 33 
years old. Short but sturdy, with brown hair and beard, 
an open countenance, a frank and decided look. 
* 
