342 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
L]ilAY 1, 1897. 
SAM SPENDS A DAY INLAND. 
Sam put his gun in tlie canoe for company or from force 
of habit, but took no pains to find use for it. His paddle 
strokes fell so noiselessly that the water fowl sitting in the 
edge of the marsh were first notified of his approach by 
the sight of the canoe's prow nosing its swift way past their 
hiding place, or of the paddler's slightly swaying figure and 
the flash of his dripping blade. Others dozing" full-fed 
were not aroused till the wake of the canoe shook the 
walls of their rush wigwam, and then with shaken quacks 
and squeaks of terror sprang to needless flight. 
A flock of low-flying teal came upon him so suddenly 
that he instinctively ducked his head as they swerved up- 
ward and swept over him, and great fish dashed from 
beneath his stealtli}"- keel with a startling surge. 
Then he saw the two Indians a little way before him, 
paddling slowly and halting at every muskrat house, in 
such leisurely conduct of their afl'airs as if the briglit day 
were endless and the genial season to have no following of 
storm and bitter cold, less provident than the muskrats.in 
no more haste than the lazily migrating waterfowl. Their 
voices, attuned to nature's, sounded no louder than the 
rustle of their paddles in the sedges as lie ran alongside, 
and they then, first aware of him, showed no more sur- 
prise at his sudden appearance than if a weed had drifted 
past. 
"Quiee," Tocksoose gave greeting, and grinned a friendly 
recognition as he dropped a quarter-grown kit from a trap 
into the canoe; but his comrade did not so much as turn his 
spur face toward the newcomer. 
"It's tew bad to ketch sech leetle runts," Sam remon- 
strated. "They hain't wuth fo'pence." 
"Me no ketch um, mebby od' man ketch um. Mebby 
mink ketch um," said Tocksoose. "Me like um git fo' cen', 
as od' man got 20 cen', nex' year. Lil' moosquas mo' bet- 
ter for eat as ol' one." 
" You might as well preach tu the minks an' foxes as tu 
these critters," Sam thought, driving his canoe forward 
with vigorous strokes that soon brought him to the mouth 
of the East Slang, into which he passed and made his way 
up the narrow, winding channel. 
Rounding a bend, he came to the foot of a long reach, in 
which nothing animate could be seen astir but a solitary 
grebe wrinkling the glassy surface in widening circles at 
various points of departure and return, in bis explorations 
of the nether watery world. Sam let the canoe drift at the 
will of the idle current, while he cm-iously counted the 
moments of the agile diver's disappearing. 
Then his wandering gaze became fixed on a great hawk 
that came cruising low over the apparently tenantless 
marsh. With short, restrained beats of his broad pinions 
the falcon ranged the silent cover till suddenly, with a 
sharp, downward slant he swooped into its depths, where- 
from, in the same instant, with a clamorous outcry of 
affrighted squeaks, 100 wood ducks burst upward with a 
startling, thunderous roar of wings, threshing water, sedges 
and air. As suddenly as they had risen they settled with 
a resounding splash in the open water of the channel, 
where they sat motionless, silent and alert. 
The baffled marauder mounted heavily from the weeds, 
and wheeling a moment above the vigilant congregation, 
each member of which was ready to dive at any sign of 
attack, he recognized the uselessness of a further attempt 
and sullenly retired. 
The swimming ducks offered a rare opportunity for a 
deadly shot, but Sam admired so much the adroitness with 
which they had foiled the on.slaught of the hawk that he 
hesitated to take advantage of it, and while he hesitated 
they became aware of the presence of a more fearful dan- 
ger than that which had threatened them from above, now 
lurking close beside them, and again simultaneously sprang 
into the air. 
Then Sam instinctively got his gun in hand, and taking 
aim at the nearest duck that was laboring upward pulled 
the trigger; but the cap responded to the stroke of the 
hammer with only a faint, lifeless click, and before it could 
be replaced by another one the tardiest laggard was well 
out of range. When an anathema had been bestowed 
upon the worthless cap and its maker, Sam tried to make 
a virtue of the misfire and be glad that it had hapjjened, 
and thus attempting to fool himself with his own hypoc- 
risy, came to the landing, marked as a place of resort by 
the ashes and spent brands of fishing fires that had burned 
in the spring nights when bullpouts were biting. 
Measuring the height of the sun, it occurred to him that 
he might enjoy the excitement of the arrival of the stage 
coach by going a little out of his way to Friend Bartlett's, 
and therefore he held across the fields at a brisk pace to- 
ward the tavern, at which the coach halted for a change 
of horses. 
As he came to the high rail fence of a stubble field, he 
surprised a small flock of wild pigeons busilj'^ picking up 
the scattered grain. He had but a glimpse of them on the 
ground, their backs shining in the slanting sunhght like 
variously tempered burnished steel, when, with a simul- 
taneous clapping of wings, like a burst of applause, they 
took flight. He fired into the thick of the flock, and four 
birds tumbled out of it. 
He strung them through the under mandibles on two of 
the long tail feathers tied together at the tips, and has- 
tened on with his burden increased in weight, but more in 
beauty; for the pigeons were old males, with ruddy breasts 
and brilliant upper plumage that shone with varied hues 
in the shifting lights. It soon had another quite as un- 
expected addition, for as Sam skirted the brink of a hol- 
low, where a brook looped a miniature intervale, in uncer- 
tain quest of easiest passage, a partridge, an early wanderer 
from the woods, burst out of the fringe of trees like a can- 
non shot from a palisade and flew straight for the home 
coverts, now with a blur of rapid, quivering wing beats, now 
with set pinions, till Sam, dropping his load and aiming 
far ahead of the fleeting mark, brought it to the pasture 
■ sward in a long incline, as if alighting naturally; but it 
struck the ground with a rebounding thud, which filled 
his heart with the pride that always comes to him who 
brings this noble bird down from its flight. 
He made haste to pick it up and go on his way, for he 
could hear the unmistakable far-sounding cluck of the ap- 
proaching stage coach and see the' neighborhood gather- 
ing at the tavern. When he reached it he was not the 
latest comer, for two panting boys came running in honest 
Undisguised haste, followed by another, who urged his 
bare legs to greater speed with sharp commands and vig- 
orous cuts of a switch while he impersonated coach, horses 
and driver. 
After them came a belated grown-up idler trying to stay 
his steps to a deliberate pace, and from his shop across the 
road the aproned cooper came bare-headed, with his 
short-handled adze in his hand and diffusing a whole- 
some odor of the pine staves and ash hoops of cheese 
casks. 
Now came the stage coach, the four horses at a brisk 
trot, the red and yellow body rocking with stately motion 
under the burden of passengers, baggage and mails, and 
greatest of all the driver, known from one end to the 
other of his route by every one, some of whom had the 
distinction of being known by him. 
He pulled up the horses before the low stoop, and throw- 
ing the reins to an hostler, descended from his lofty seat 
to open the door of the coach for such passengers as chose 
to alight and stretch their legs while the horses were 
changed. Hospitably welcomed by the smiling landlord, 
clean-shaven and in shirt sleeves spotlessly white, all 
availed themselves of the chance except a woman dressed 
in deep mourning who held a little boy with long wavy 
flaxen hair and a brunette complexion, seated upon her 
lap. He stared out wide-eyed at the juvenile groundlings, 
envying them their freedom no less than they his dis- 
tinguished position as a stage coach passenger, while there 
was a silent interchange of bashful smiles. 
Two of the passengers were spruce city men, wearing 
their well-fitting garments with the accustomed ease that 
a sharp-faced old lawyer wore his shabby suit of black and 
an air of half contemptuous condescension toward three 
farmers who like himself were representatives-elect to the 
Legislature on their way to the State capital. These three 
were already counting the cost of the honor as they longed 
for the daily comfort of shirt sleeves and old clothes, arid 
wondered how they could bear the burden of coats for 
four long weeks, and what they should do with the strong, 
hard hands that till now few days but Sundays had found 
unemployed. Even now one got his knife open, and 
searched the ground for a bit of soft wood to whittle, while 
another resumed interrupted work upon his finger nails, 
which gave promise of employment for some time to come. 
There was also a bluff Englishman, who at once caught 
sight of Sam's birds and asked many questions concerning 
them, as did the city men — he, with a sportsman's inter- 
est; they, with a hungry relish of whatever smacked of 
wild life. 
To the untraveled mountaineer the stage coach, with the 
mud and dust of other and distant towns upon its wheels 
and painted sides, and bringing hither dwellers in great 
cities and men whose home was beyond the sea, was as 
strange an object as a ship come to quiet port from the tur- 
moil of the ocean and the busy world beyond it, with the 
salt of the sea waves still upon its decks and the breath of 
foreign atmospheres not yet quite exhaled. The sight 
and touch of it gave him a dreamy vision of scenes that 
he could never chance to see, and with such respect for its 
strangeness he marveled at the bold familiarity of the 
boys, who pranced and capered, as horses at the empty 
pole, thrust out like a stripped bowsprit, while one enjoyed 
a blissful moment of regal glory on the box. 
The little child inside the coach was teasing his mother 
for something, and she, after an unavailing attempt to 
quiet him, asked Sam — now sitting alone on the long bench 
of the stoop — ^if she could get a drink of water for the child. 
He at once brought a brimming glass from the barroom, 
and with a careful eye upon it as she stretched forth her 
hand, he saw a narrow band of unmistakable mulatto skin 
between the glove and the sleeve. 
He gave a quick start at the unexpected revelation that 
spilled a little of the water, and cast a quick, inquiring 
glance at the black veiled face. The woman, as quickly 
divining the cause, hastily drew her sleeve doyn to her 
glove. The boy drank eagerly and she finished . the glass 
under her veil, returning it with a trembling hand to Sam, 
who reassured her with a significant shake of his head and 
a band upon his lips. The stage coach had a new interest 
for him now, but he did not betray it by staring inside it. 
The fresh horses were brought out and put on, the trav- 
elers took their places, the rural representatives flurried 
with fear of being left, the lawyer, the Englishman and 
others with the easy deliberation of owners, for whom the 
coach must wait. The driver climbed to the box, cracked 
his whip, and the heavy conveyance rolled gayly away. 
The landlord, the hostlers and the spectators watched its 
departure to the first turn of the road. 
"By grab! Dan don't drive a livelier team 'an that on his 
route, I'll bet," said the landlord, withdrawing his admir- 
ing gaze from the retreating coach. 
"Got quite a load o' rep'sent'tives," another remarked. 
"Don't know's they look much better 'n aourn. Wonder if 
he's goin' by stage." 
"M'dah," one answered, evidently not a supporter of the 
successful candidate. "He's a-goin' tuckernuck, with his 
own team!" 
"By jolly!" the fat cooper ejaculated, "I wish 't I had what 
it cost tu paint that 'ere Englishman's face. You wouldn't 
ketch me a-wheltin' hoops." 
"That 'ere womern was turrible afeared o' showin' her 
face," the youngest man of the party said; "but she needn't 
ha' be'n if she's as good-lookin' aa her boy." 
"Some widder womern, proberbly," the landlord said 
oracularly, and the company dispersed slowly, except the 
boys' ste^s were hastened by the imperative rap of the 
schoolmistress's ruler on the rattling window sash of the 
schoolhouse. While the corner hamlet lapsed into its ordi- 
nary quietude Sam took the road, and presently came to 
Friend Bartlett's, 
The peaceful atmosphere of the place was not disturbed 
by his approach. The fat dog arose from his basking place 
on the sunny side of the horse block and walked forth to 
meet him with a slow, non-committal wag of the tail, 
which was quickened to a friendly greeting when the 
game was sniffed and Sam's knee had passed olfactory in- 
spection, and then escorted him to the door with dignified 
cordiality. 
Rebecca Bartlett met him with a pleased smile lighting 
her placid face as she recognized him. 
"Why, this is Samuel, isn't it? Well, I'm real glad to see 
thee. I've wanted to talk with thee about poor Pelatiah 
ever since John saw thee. Wh9,t, thee hasn't brought us 
more ducks?" 
"Wal, yis, marm," said Sam, "ducks was what I started 
tu fetch ye, but I run ontu a few pigins an' a pa'tridge, 
an' didn't know but you could work 'em in some way. 
Pa'tridge is pooty dry-meated, but pigins makes tol'able 
pigin pies, aour folks thinks." 
"Thee has got a partridge? Now I am glad," she declared 
with great satisfaction and increased interest, as she raised 
the bird from the bunch and felt the plump breast with a 
critical hand. 
"It's what neighbot Corbin 's craving, and nob'dy 's been 
able to get him one.'^ 
"Onwell, is he, ma,rm?" 
"Oh, yes, he's very low," said Rebecca, modulating her 
voice to due solemnity. "It's consumption, and it isn't 
likely he can continue long, but he thinks a partridge is 
all he needs to make him well. Thee knows how it is 
with people in a decline. Now, if thee 's willing, I'll send 
it to him." 
"Why, sartinly. Mis' Bartlett, it's yourn to du jest what 
you're a min' tu with; an' I'll sit ri' daown an' pick it an' 
dress it." 
"No, thank thee, Samuel, I think it will please him to 
see it jest as it is. He's been a great hunter. Perhaps it 
would be better for him now if he had given his thoughts 
more to weightier matters; but it has seemed hard that he 
couldn't have one partridge now, when he used to get so 
many, and for other people too. Margaret!" 
"Yes, mother," a soft voice answered out of a light stir 
of housework inside, and in a moment the daughter ap- 
peared, without a trace of its recent performance upon her 
neat attire. A shade of anxiety fell upon her face as she 
recognized the visitor, to whom she gave friendly greeting. 
"Why, how does thee do?" and then turning question- 
ing eves to her mother, "no bad news of— of the apples, I 
hope?" 
"No news ary way," Sam answered. "I see 'em git a 
good start tow-ards Canerdy.'.' 
"No, it's nothing about them," said Rebecca, "but Samuel 
has brought us more ducks and some pigeons and this 
partridge, which seems almost providential. Now thee 
put on thy bonnet and run right up to neighbor Corbin's 
with the partridge, will thee? While thee 's gone I'll get 
these pigeons ready and make a pie for dinner. If thee 's 
a mind to help me pick 'em, Samuel, we can talk about 
Pelatiah, and thee'll stay to dinner with us." 
Sam was not loth to accept both invitations, and fol- 
lowed Rebecca to the woodshed. Half of this was floored 
with plank, neatly swept, but thickly scarred with axe 
wounds where misdirected blows had fallen along the bor- 
der nearest the chip-littered ground, on which the tiers of 
wood arose to the base of the cobwebbed rafters, to which 
phebe birds' nests of past summers clung in various stages 
of dilapidation. The cheese press stood at one end of the 
floor, the lever, weighted with worn-out plow points, mak- 
ing occasional spasmodic, creaking descents, presently fol- 
lowed by an increased trickle of whey into the keeler. A 
work bench stood at the other end, with a vise and a few 
tools upon it, under a dusty window, a rack of augers and 
a sickle, and a corn cutter made from a broken scythe. 
Along the walls between the cheese press and the work 
bench hung various utensils of the dairy and the kitciien, 
divided by the kitchen and cheese room doors. Elderly 
hens made cautious incursions into this debatable ground 
between indoors and out, where nests were tolerated if 
once established. 
Rebecca sat down on th6 chopping block and Sam on the 
saw-horse, and they stripped the feathers from the birds 
into the same basket; and so, with hands and tongues em- 
ployed together, economized time like two gossips at their 
knitting. 
"Poor thing," Rebecca exclaimed, pitying a wound she 
had uncovered of resplendent feathers, "it does seem cruel 
to kill such pretty creatures, but they do pick up a great 
deal of wheat, and they make excellent pies. And now 
tell me about Pelatiah. Was he greatly cast down?" She 
sighed deeply and made piteous little sounds with her 
tongue against her teeth, as she listened to the story of 
Pelatiah's disappointment and Louisa's death, and when 
it was ended said in soft, motherly tones: 
"Ah, poor souls, how sad! Pelatiah was very kindly 
and faithful, but I used to wish he was more tender. He 
didn't go to meeting with us very often. I hope he is 
softened. Louisa was a pleasant young woraan, but light. 
Poor thing! poor thing!" 
"Well, Peltier ain't no gre't hand tu go tu meetin', but I 
wisht there wa'n't no worse folks in the world. And he's 
as tender-hearted as a gal." 
"There, now, I'll get the broom and sweep thee off,'' 
though Sam protested that he was quite clean enough. 
"My," she exclaimed, as she supplemented the vigorous 
sweeping of Sam's legs by the application of a moistened 
forefinger, "how feathers do stick to woollen stuff. Now 
I guess thee'll do." 
Now Margarjet returned glowing with the freshness of 
the morning, but sobered by recent speech with one who 
was near the end of life's journey. 
"Well, my dear, how did thee find David this morn- 
ing?" 
"Very feeble; but he brightened up wonderfully at the 
sight of the partridge, and says he shall be able to shoot 
them himself in a little while." 
"Ah, poor man," Rebecca sighed, "he's done with all 
such things." 
"He wanted me to thank thee," Margaret said to Sam. 
"Why, it wasn't me. It was your mother an' you. But 
I be sorry for anybody 'at wants to go huntin' an' can't. 
That is tough. It 'ould du him more good tu shoot one 
pa'tridge 'ah to eat a dozen." 
"I don't quite see how that could be," said Margaret 
with a questioning smile. Sam answered by asking; 
"Why, wouldn't you djuther pick one wild posy 'at you 
s'arched for yourself 'an tu hev a hul harnful fetched tu 
ye?" 
"0, yes," and being a woman Margaret shifted ground. 
"But I can't understand how people can enjoy killing 
things, such pretty things as partridges." 
"They hain't no prettier 'n posies, an' it kills posies tu 
pick 'em. But that ain't what you pick 'em for. It's to 
hev 'em." 
"But it doesn't hurt the posies," she argued. 
"That's more'n we ^now, bein' 'at we hain't posies, not 
all on us," and Sam's honest admiring eyes completed the 
comphment. 
"Well, child, we must be doing," said her mother, ad- 
monished by the deliber3,te chime of the kitchen clocls. 
