Dso. 36 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
809 
"Yes," aaid Huldah, in a spirited voice, "we named 
him Timothy Samwel, an' I say it's a real nice name, 
don't you, mother?" 
"It's an almighty good name," Gran'ther Hill cried, 
emphasizing the confirmation with a thump of his staff, 
"on'y there's twicte too much on 't." 
"An' you've be'n an' named that child," sighed Mrs. 
Purington, "an' not said one word on 't to the on'y gran'- 
ma he's got or ever likely tu hev, an' not knowin' 'at the' 
ever '11 be another boy tu namf ! Not me nor one o' my 
folks mentioned in it oncte, nor yet a Pur'nt'n, which I 
Bh'ld think you'd all be 'shamed o' yourselves a-comin' in 
incouragin' sech duih's, but you hain't, not one on ye." 
She cast a watery glare upon the whole company, but 
resolutely withheld her tears while she hurriedly groped 
in her deep pocket for her handkerchief and bottle of 
hartshorn. ,„.,,, 
"That 'ere's tarnal harneome seed corn you're shelhn , 
Gran'ther Hill remarked; "twelve rowed, hain't it?" Sam 
nodded an afiSlrmative. 
"Talkin' 'baout saed corn at sech a time, when an im- 
mortal soul's b'en gi'n a name!" Mrs. Purington ex- 
claimed in a voice smothered by emotion and her hand- 
kerchief. "An' sech a name! Timerthy Sammywel 
L^vell Not a Pur'nt'n nor a Borden mentioned! Jest 
clear Lovel !" 
"Wal, Level's his name," said Sam. 
"An' his natur', I hope, makin' my manners tu his 
mother," Gran'ther Hill added. "You take this 'ere dol- 
lar, Lovel, an' punch a hole in't an' hev the boy wear it 
l-aound his neck, for tu make him remember his name." 
"He'd ortu forgit it, Timerthy Sammywel! If that 
hain't a name!" 
"You keep a-sayin' on't over long 'nough an' you'll git 
wonted to't," Gran'ther Hill chuckled maliciously. 
"Me git wonted to'll I won't never call him it, you see 
*f I du," 
"Call him Samerthy Timuwel if it'll make it seem any 
better tu ye. I da' say his father 'n' mother won't care 
80 long*8 it's all hove in," Gran'ther said, but Mrs. Puring- 
ton treated this suggestion with the silent contempt its 
triviality merited. 
"I don't see what makes you so sot ag'in it, mother," 
Said Huldahi "we couldn't let him go on so forever, him 
two year ol', goin' on three, an' folks a-saying we couldn't 
find no name good enough." 
"Yes, an' if you'd waited half an haourit wouldn't ha' 
killed nob'dy, an' I'd ha' fetched you a name 'at 'ould 
saouad somehaow when he gits tu be a minister er a 
darkter, er goes to the leegislatur', an' 'ould look somehaow 
in the paper an' on his tWumstUn when he gits merried 
an' when he dies. You needn't ask me, for I won't tell 
ye. I'm goin' tu save it for Sis ag'in she merries an' hes 
ehildi-en, which I hope she won't never." Mrs. Puring- 
ton searched for her pocket with her left hand and with 
the other returned the handkerchief and smelling bottle 
to its depths with rapidly repeated thrusts, then drew 
back her feet and grasped the arms of her chair with de- 
liberate intention of arising, but she was stopped by the 
sudden roar of Uncle Lisha. 
"Good airth an' seas! what be you a-makin' sech a 
rumpus 'baout a young un's name for? If he's a good boy 
his name'll be good, an' if he's a bad boy George Wash- 
in't'n wouldn't saound good wi' him a bearin' on't. We 
hain't much more'n worms anyways, an' it hain't but 
precious leetle 'caount what names we hev while we're 
Equirmin' 'raound here. The' hain't one name in ten 
thaouaand but'U be forgot a hundered years f'm naon, an' 
folks 'at sees 'em scratched on gre't stuns '11 wonder why 
anybody bothered tU dii it more'n they will who we was 
or what we done. 'Baout all names is good for is to tell 
U8 f'm one 'nother, so don't fret your gizzard 'baout the 
boy*s name, Eunice Pur'n't'n," 
Mrs. Purington arose ponderously and went over to the 
window overlooking the garden, where Timothy Lovel 
was kneeling on a board carefully sowing the beds. After 
some moments of critical scrutiny of the work, with the 
rim of her deep bonnet held against the panes, she said in 
a tone of resignation : 
"Huldy. your rhubud's forwarder 'n aourn, an' I guess 
I'll go ail' git a han'fle tu make him some sass. He's 
dretf'l fond on 't." 
"Yes, du, mother," cried Huldah, "an' I'll go with you. 
Bub, don't he want tu go 'long tew? ' 
"I guess I might as well go wi' the women folks an' 
Bub," Aunt Jei'usha said, winding the yarn carefully 
around the needles and sticking them into the ball of 
yarn before she laid her work aside. Then she followed 
into the garden. 
"Wal, there I" Sam said in mingled amusement and 
"vexation, "Bub he is yet an' Bub I guess he'll be till he 
gits over it in the nat'ral way." 
"By the Lord Harry he's named, an' the' can't nob'dy 
on-name him naow," Gran'ther Hill declared. "I didn't 
keer a primin' o' paowder what name you gin him, so you 
gin it, but I swear I don't b'lieve in one pussoc, an' she a 
woman, a bcssin' all the fun'als an' namin' all the young 
uns in Danvis, an' I'll cut her corners whenever I can. 
An' naow if you've got some cider as good for the time o' 
year as it gin'ally is, I'll m'isten my mortial clay, for bar- 
rin' y our mother-in-law's weepin' this hes be'n an almighty 
dry chris'nin'." ROWLAND E. Eobinson. 
Febrisborqb, Vt, 
Florida Tarpon. 
St. James City, Fla., Dec. IB— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Fishermen may be interested to learn that the 
fishing for tarpon seems good here now. No doubt it is 
good all about here. There has so far been no severe 
weather, and there is an abundance of all kinds of fish. 
Thinking there might be a show for tarpon, I tried it in 
Matlacha Pass Friday and saw a good many, but either 
was not there on the right tide or not in the right spot. 
The nfxt day again tried it in the "first pool," and almost 
at the first east hooked one, and had at the same time a 
■shark or saw-fish on the other rod— we always use two 
rods. Had to cut off the shark, fearing that the lines 
would foul. I landed the tarpon, which was 6ft, long 
and 33iu. girth, in ten minutes. Then going back to the 
same place, the first cast hooked another; and though a 
small one he was far more gamy, and took me fifteen 
minutes to get to gaff. Saw plenty more, but got no 
more. Until we get a cold aorther there seems no rea- 
son why we cannot get tarpcn. at this season. 
A CAMP GHOST STORY. 
Ashland, Wis.— "Well, Ernest, we will have to stop." 
"Yes, think we will," he if plied, in his French-Cana- 
dian jargon. "We will skin those horses alive if we 
keep on." 
We had left camp long before daylight on our return 
trip, and after striking the main road had found it frozen 
so that the horses and mules at every step broke through 
and the sharp ice cut their legs like a knife. I deter- 
mined to turn around and go back to camp and wait 
until it either froze hard enough to bear our team, or the 
road had thawed enough to melt the ice which had 
formed. We pried up the wagon until the wheels were 
clear, unhitched the horses and mules, turned them 
around and let them pick their way back at the edge of 
the road. About one-half mile from where we aban- 
doned the wagon we came to the river which we had 
crossed in the morning almost dry shod, but which upon 
our approach we found bank full and running like a mill- 
race. Ernest said: "Them fellows lift the dam last 
night." 
"Yes. There will be no more crossing until the river 
freezes over solid." 
"Well, what will we do now!" 
"Stay here. Here is a hovel which we can fix for the 
horses. There is hay on the meadow; we have oats on 
the wagon, so that fixes them. We have pork and flour 
and blankets, and we can inclose one corner of the old 
camp; besides we can shoot partridges and maybe a deer, 
and that fixes us. I don't care if it keeps this way for a 
month." 
Somehow my plan did not seem to strike Ernest as I 
thought it would. Ordinarily the manner of life we 
would be forced to live until such time as the road should 
become passable would have been, of all conditions, to his 
entire satisfaction. But during the whole day, in all of 
our preparations, fixing hovel and camp, and packing 
hay and provisions, he was silent and morose, seeming to 
have a burden upon his mind. I expected to learn what 
it was when our day's work was done, and I was not dis- 
appointed. Stretched out before the fire at night, I said 
to nim, "Ernest, what is the matter? You don't seem to 
like this place. I think it is a dandy. I saw a couple of 
partridges in the birches down by the river just at sunset, 
and to-morrow night I will go down and get them. We 
will rig up a raft, and you can get across the river to 
camp, get some tea and coffee and sugar, and we will live 
like kings." 
"I know that," he said. "The horse and mule they 
all right, this camp good enough, but you don't know 
this place have the hant. You not hear about that, I tell 
you. 
"About five years ago old Mose Smith he owned this 
camp, and all the timber along the river for a long ways. 
He always drive horse with lots bells, and we can always 
tell when Mose come. We hear the bells in the evening 
when he drive up from down the river. Little while 
after the Christmas Mose he die. About a week after- 
ward we hear them bells, and the boys they say, 'Some- 
body come with Mose horse,' and we all go out in the 
chip yard and we hear the bells again, but we don't see 
no horse, no cutter; then somebody say, 'That Mose's 
ghost.' The boys they get scare, and some of them go 
away that winter. We heard the bells every little while, 
and right in the middle of the summer people who camp 
here say that old Mose's ghost he drive up here in the 
yard e-^iSiy night.*' 
"Well, Ernest, you have told me a very nice story 
and talked me almost to sleep. I don't believe any ghost 
will trouble us to-night; so good night." 
Ernest did not reply, but sat smoking and gazing in- 
tently into the fire. I was sound asleep. Some one was 
shaking me by the shoulder. Getting hardly awake, I 
heard Ernest say: "Wake up! That ghost he come 
now; listen now you hear the bells." 
W ide awake, I sat upright and listened intently. All I 
could hear was the wind, which had risen during the 
night and whistled and moaned around the old camp and 
hovel and hay shed beyond. Suddenly as it rose in vio- 
lence there sounded in the distance what seemed to be a 
string of sleigh bells; faint and far at first, the sound 
seemed to grow nearer and louder and then die out grad- 
ually almost at the camp door. "Well," I said, "those are 
nice bells, Ernest. Old Mose must have had an ear for 
music; his ghost has at any rate. Let's go out and ask 
the old gent in. Light the lantern. Maybe Old Mose 
don't need any light, but I can't see an inch befor<3 my 
nose," 
' Oh, no 1 We don't go out I" 
"Yes, come on^ I say. If you don't want to go 1*11 go 
alone. We have plenty to eat; maylDe the ghost is 
hungry; maybe cold; we will bring him in, feed him and 
werm him," and out I went, bearing the lighted lantern, 
into the chip yard. Nothing was visible, but as we stood 
gazing into the direction whence the sound had come, 
the wind rising again in a powerful gust, we heard the 
bells again, this time apparently nearer, the sound seem- 
ing to die out in the hay shed, 
Ernest had followed rather than stay in camp alone. 
''Your ghost has gone to put up his horse," I said. "We 
will go help, maybe his fingers are cold, and some help in 
unhitching will not come amiss." 
We stood again just at the entrance of the hay shed. 
Again the wind rose and again sounded the bells, this 
time the sound starting low, but seemingly nearer— 
dingle, dingle, dingle-dangle dingle, dingle, dingle, dingle. 
"Ha, hal" I said, "he must be pretty close here. I 
think I have found your ghost, and he is neither cold nor 
hungry; but he is a welcome guest nevertheless. Here is 
a frying-pan with a long handle which will come in very 
handy, and here is a piece of chain which we wiU find use • 
ful. Watch now and listen." 
I brought Ernest up and held the lantern high, so that 
the light fell full upon the articles named and described. 
A gust of wind howled around the corner of the camp 
and came sweeping through the hay shed, The frying- 
pan swung out, was caught flatways by the wind and 
swung back, striking the chain, and at each successive 
stroke it went dingle-dongle, dingle-dongle, and as the 
wind passed it settled again into place, dongle, dongle, 
dongle. 
"Well, Ernest, what do you think of your ghost 
now?" 
"I remember now. I was cookee, and the oook«ay one 
day, 'Ernest, take this old frying-pan, hang him up 
Eomewhere outside, we don't weed him any more now; 
the boss he buy a new one last night and I hang him by 
that chain. By gosh! I never saw so funny t'ing like 
that." 
"Well, we will go to bed now. Bring along the frying- 
pan and to-morrow night we will have some partridge in 
it." 
"Yes, you bet; we no afraid for ghost now." 
G. W. M. 
HOLLAND.— III. 
^Continued from page 455.] 
After working this cover it was the orthodox course to 
follow the fenee to the road, which we crossed, and de- 
ecending a steep sidehill entered the "happy valley" at its 
lower end. In those days this was indeed an ideal sports- 
man's paradise. As you can see, there are several swampy 
thickets that look very inviting, while that old orchard, 
grown up to alders and witch hazel, is perfectly fasci- 
nating, and as your footsteps press its carpet of evergreen 
grass and delicate ferns your pulse bounds with an excit- 
ing thrill and you involuntarily tighten your grasp upon 
your gun, well knowing that scores of birds must tarry in 
so sweet a epat. Both woodcock and grouse were always 
here in goodly numbers, but the cream of the whole val- 
ley was to be found just above and beyond the orchard on 
that gentle slope, covered with birches, interspersed with 
alders in the several little runs that wind their course 
through the belt of birches from the hill above. This was 
indeed a favored spot; stately grouse came from the hill 
above and, charmed with the beautiful surroundings, tar- 
ried long in the enchanting home, while the shy wood- 
cock flitted from the rich feeding grounds in the meadow 
below to repose through the day in the shade of the white- 
armed birches he loves so well. Once, when here in 
company with Mr. Ashmun and Mr. Bowles, I started a 
rabbit just at the edge of the birches, and as he went past 
Mr. Bowles let drive at him, but the rabbit kept on and 
ran into a brace of woodcock that were lying close to- 
gether. As they topped the birches Mr. Bowles brought 
one down in fine style, and, forgetting all about his shot 
at the rabbit, he drew a bead on the other one just as Mr. 
Ashmun fired and killed it. This was rather lunny, but 
the laugh came in when Mr, Bowles, turning to me with 
beaming countenance, exclaimed, "That is the first double 
I've had this season;" then to watch the change in his 
features as remembrance of that shot at the rabbit 
flashed upon bis brain was better than all the rest. 
After working out this slope to the fence we turn to the 
left and beat the cover until we come to the road; then 
we turn toward the house, occasionally finding a stray 
woodcock in the scattered clumps of alders, and several 
times we have found one or two snipe near the little 
brook. This pictureeque valley was dearly loved by Mr. 
Ashmun, and it was pronounced by him to be the gem of 
the whole group, and I am free to say that I more than 
half agree with him, notwithstanding the manifold at- 
tractions of other delightful resorts, around which cluster 
memories of rarest sport enjoyed in the bygone days. 
Our usual route from here was to follow the old road to 
"the birches," from there to "the walnut sprouts," and if 
we had time we drove on down the hill to the church- 
yard belonging to and quite near the little village of 
Wales. This was known as the "graveyard cover," but 
aside from the border of birches near the pond there was 
little to indicate the presence of woodcock, yet notwith- 
standing its uninviting appearance it was a famous place 
for them, and we frequently found here from eight to 
fifteen birds, often flushing four or five from the bare top 
of that little knoll, and nearly always finding two or 
three in the far corner near the fence, and usually two or 
three were to be found in the birch thicket near the pond. 
Once when here with Mr. Ashmun we started a large 
bevy of quail in these birches, which scattered among the 
low brusU on the hillside across the road, where we fol- 
lowed them and had some capital sport, bringing to bag 
sixteen fine birds, all old males. These birds were un- 
doubtedly the sole survivors of numerous bevies that had 
been decimated by the severe winters that very nearly 
destroyed the quail throughout a large section of country. 
Previous to my first visit to Holland they had been very 
plentiful, but the extremely cold winters and heavy snows 
in '58 and '59 nearly exterminated them, and although 
Mr. Bowles and I rpstocked the grounds with a good sup- 
ply of birds from Virginia and Ohio, there have been but 
few found here since. 
Across the pond there is a large extent of very good 
cover, or rather a succession of covers, where we often 
had excellent sport, both with grouse and woodcock. 
The hillside south of the pond, then covered with a strag- 
gling growth of birches, was at times a famous place for 
woodcock, while just beyond the hill to the right is a 
charming bit of ground, known aa the "schoolhouse 
cover," that was a sure place for three or four woodcock; 
and often we had a iucky hit at the grouse, bringing to 
bag at one time no less than fiftten of these royal birds 
inlhis small patch of cover. It was on this occasion that 
Mr. Ashmun covered himself with glory by handsomely 
grassing three birds in as many spconds with his Roper 
gun— a four-shot repeating single barrel, 
Mr. Ashmun's favorite bird was the woodcock, and he 
was not a lover of the grouse, always finding fault with 
them when found, as he expressed it, intruding on wood- 
cock ground; but after we had smoothed the plumage of 
our fifteen birds, and laid them side by side on the flat 
rock by the spring, he gazed upon them awhile with 
glistening eyes, then turning to me he exclaimed: "I 
have often called you crazy on the grouse question, but I 
begin to see that there is method in your madness, and it 
will take but little more sport like this to make me also 
a 'partridge crank,' " 
The grounds that I l>ave attempted to describe take m, 
with the exception of a few unimportant nooks and cor- 
ners, all the covers lying to the west of the reservoir, a 
long, n.arrow, artificial lake with rather picturesque 
scenery at its upper end; the chosen home of the pickerel, 
which were caught in such numbers that even I am skep- 
tical of the record jotted down so long ago, and shall 
therefore decline to reproduce it here. Our usual route 
in working through the covers upon the east side was to 
take the road that crosses the stream a few yards below 
the reservoir dam, and, following it past the long un- 
worked • 'lead mine" across the little brook, a little beyond 
which the road turns short to the left and winds through 
a good-looking birch cover. Hitching our team to that 
pld apple tree on the right near the fence, we cross the 
