502 
FOREST AND STREAM^ 
[Dec. 25 1897. 
UNCLE GJD'S CHRISTMAS TREE. 
"Wal, I do' know what to du." The words came up in 
a long sigh from the depths of Aunt Pamela Corbin's 
portly bosom, as she stood with both hands dropped help- 
lessly, one holding an open letter, the other the spectacles 
which had aided its slow reading. "Chris'mas a-comin' 
tu-morrer, an' Nancy an' her man a-comin' tu spend it, an' 
nothin' pervided! Wal, I say for it!" 
She looked down at Gideon, tilted forward on the front 
legs of his chair, and poking meditatively among the 
ashes on the stove hearth with the stick used in the last 
lighting of his pipe. 
"Why don't ye say suthin', father?" she demanded after 
a moment of waiting. 
"Why, I hain't nothin' to say no more'n the boy had 
when his father died," Uncle Gid responded, and then re- 
considering this avowal, "why, yes, I hev tew, for I be 
glad Nancy's a-comin', an' she'll be glad tu see her father 
'n' mother, if she doos hafter go it on pork an' beans, 
which I don't see there's nothin' for it but for her tu, an' I 
guess her man can stan' it. Nathan 'a hearty t' eat, and 
the baby he's a-nussin' yit, I s'pose, so it won't make no 
diff'ence to him." 
"A-nussin"?" cried Aunt Pamela, "why, Gideon Corbin, 
what be you a-thinkin' on? That child was three year ol' 
the tenth dayo' November. A-goin' qn four year oF, an' jus' 
the age fer candy an' sech, an' we not so much as a spoo'- 
f'l o' honey in the haouse! I do' know but what I feel the 
wust abaout that of anything. But the idee o' him a-nuss- 
in'! Oh, my! if men folkes haint enough tu kill!" and 
Aunt Pamela was so overcome by the absurdity of it that 
she was obliged to sit down and laugh, while Uncle Gid 
ground a silent accompaniment till he could divert her 
mind to a more serious channel. 
"If you hedn't a-hed sech all-killin' luck a-raisin' 
chickens," he suggested, "but the' hain't a one. If the ol' 
ruster 'd du, I'd chance it on pickin' up one some'ers afore 
spring, but he's poorer 'n a skate; might's well try t' eat a 
tailor's goose ! An ev'yb'dy sol' the last turkey 'at they 
hain't kep' for the'selves. Gosh, I do' know ! I guess it's 
pork an' beans, Milly." 
"If we'd only killed the hawg last week as we cal'lated 
tu," Aunt Milly lamented, "the'd ha' been spare-rib, an' 
if it wa'n'tfor the name on 't I'd just as lives hev it as 
turkey." 
"Livser!" Uncle Gid warmly seconded her favorable 
opinion of spare-rib, " 'cause you c'n du most o' the carvin' 
aforehand wi' an axe. Gosh ! I druther be shot than tu 
carve a turkey afore folks ! Yes, sir, my own folks ! If I 
hed it my way, I'd hev turkeys 'nough so 't each pusson 'd 
hev one tu hisself, an' if he wanted any wings or laigs, or 
close-hugs or pope's-noses, he'd hafter git 'iajn for hisself." 
"Wal, I'd be thankful enough if we hed one for all on 
us!" Aunt Milly sighed. ''But, my land, it don"*t signify ! 
I must be a-doin' wi' what the' is tu du with, for here 'tis 
10 o'clock. Thank goodness, the's ten good punkins left, 
an' I'll make some punkin pies," and she began to stir 
herself ponderously. 
"An' I'll jist make some 'lasses candy for that boy, an', 
I guess, bile him up some sweet flag in 'lasses if it hain't 
got tew dry. The idee o' him a-nussin'!" 
Whereat she fell to laughing again as she moved about 
the kitchen, while the stove with its chattering doors and 
dancing griddles, and the table with its falling leaf beating 
a tattoo against its legs, seemed to join in her mirth. 
Being the cause of it, Uncle Gid could hardly be expected 
to take part in it, but the general commotion aroused him 
from his apathetic attitude. Arising, he unfolded his tall, 
bent form to more than its accustomed height, and fixed 
his gaze contemplatively upon the long rifle, which hung 
in its wooden hooks over the door. 
"Wal," he said after a little deliberation, "I kinder 
guess I'll take a rantomscoot an' see 'f can ketch a pa'tridge. 
Don't s'pose the' is one, since them shoats from Higginston 
ranshacked the hul universal woods wi' the' cussed yol- 
lopin' spani'ls. It was yip! yopaty, yip! slam! bang! 
whang! day in an' day aout for a week till what pa'tridges 
wan't killed was skart tu death. By gum, I wiah't the 
last identical spani'l wus— wal, no, I do' know as shot, 
ezackly, 'cause they hain't tu blame for bein' horned 
spani'ls, but I wish't they was turned intu 'spectable 
haoun' dawgs like my ol' Gab' el. If Gab'el wakes up arter 
I git away, don't ye tell him I've gone a-huntin', 'cause it'll 
most break his heart tu be left ahind, an' I don't scasely 
want him a pa'tridge huntin'." 
The old hound, almost hidden beneath the stove, signi- 
fied recognition of his name with languid beats of his tail 
on the floor. 
"Consarn it, he's hear'd me talkin' on 't, an' nothin'll du 
naow but he must go," said Uncle Gid with some show of 
mild vexation. 
"Wal, mebby I c'n ketch a pa'tridge or tew, an' they'll 
look more Chris'massy on the table 'an pork and beans." 
Whatever of fin, fur or feather was overtaken by Uncle 
Gid's bullets he called "ketched" just as if it had been 
taken by hook, trap or net. 
Now he took down the rifle. Gabriel's tail continued its 
languid beat while his master took down the rifle, opened 
the patch box in the stock and examined its contents, 
pocketed a handful of bullets from the clock shelf, shook 
the paper box of caps close to his ear and put it in his vest 
pocket, held up the small powder horn between his eye 
and the window before slipping it into his breast pocket, 
then drew the cleaning rod and its patch out of the long 
barrel with a critical ear and touch to its smooth progress, 
all so quietly that the strokes of the old hound's tail were 
not accelerated. 
But when Gideon remarked to himself under his breath 
that "the ol' churn was all right," and began tiptoeing 
cautiously toward the door, Gabriel came scrambling 
backward out of his warm berth with a prodigious scratch- 
ing and clattering of toe nails in a state of joyous excite- 
ment, to which he gave vent in awkward, stiff-jointed 
gambols and suppressed yelps. :■ 
When out of doors and assured of his master's intended 
course, he at once subsided to a sobriety befitting his 
years and jogged on toward the woods with a staM and 
business-like pace, now and then waiting for Gideon, and 
looking up into his face to catch his meaning when he 
8ai4— 
"Naow, Gab'el, you haint sech a fool, be ye, as tu cal'late 
you're goin' tu find anything you want this time o' day. 
The' hain't been a fox stirrin' these tew hours, an' rabbits 
you do' want, an' the' hain't been a coon aout door for a 
fortni't, I know. It's a pa'tridge I'm arter, an' you won't 
hunt them." Or when Gabriel sniffed at a fox track im- 
printed on the snow when the latest stars were shining or 
longer ago — 
"Naow, dawg, you don't want tu be a-foolin' with that. It 
hain't got no more scent than moonshine." 
Then the hound disappeared in the border of the 
woods, beyond the scope of conversation, except when 
after wide circuits, in which he could sometimes be heard 
thrashing the underbrush with his tail, or snapping a dry 
twig under foot, or sounding an irrepressible trumpet blast 
when the hot scent of a fresh squirrel track suddenly 
tickled his nostrils, he would return for a brief interview 
with his master, who was in more silent quest of game. 
Now, to his intense disgust, a company of jays vocifer- 
ously heralded Gideon's cautious progress; now a saucy 
red squirrel jeered at him with great volubility from vari- 
ous points of observation, and now he saw a bevy of 
chickadees flitting above a prostrate trunk with greater 
interest in some object just beneath them than in him. 
Several knots bristled from the log at various angles. One 
on top, as motionless and apparently as rigid as the others, 
seemed to attract Uncle Gid's attention, for he scrutinized 
it intently till at last the rifle arose slowly to his shoulder, 
then became motionless for an instant, then spat out a 
thin streak of fire with a spiteful crack, and the knot tum- 
bled off the log in a sudden but brief and final spasm of 
animation. 
Gabriel came in at the shot in a state of excitement 
which subsided in a contemptuous sniff at the meager 
result. Now he kept near his master as if to prevent his 
committing any further folly. 
Uncle Gid pocketed the headless partridge and resumed 
his cautious quest, though not a little annoyed by 
Gabriel's persistent attendance. This became more an- 
noying when the tracks of three partridges were found 
freshly imprinting the snow where the birds had wan- 
dered deviously, but still in company, from thicket to 
thicket, and likely to be so come upon in the next if the 
dog not flush them. But he seemed perversely bent on 
accomplishing this, for he nosed along the wandering 
trails in advance of his master, to whose low-toned but 
emphatic commands were as unheeded as unheard. 
"There, you 'tarnal ol' fool-head, you've done it, hain't 
•ye!" the old man's suppressed vexation broke forth aloud, 
when Gabriel threshed his way into the dead, dry under- 
branches of a copse of young pines, and in the same in- 
stant the three partridges burst up through the green 
tops like as many rockets simultaneously discharged. 
"Oh, if I don't give ye a whalin' when I git a-holt on 
ye!" It is doubtful whether Uncle Gid's wrath would 
have endured to the fulfillment of the threat, even if the 
hound in his surprise had not uttered a loud, sonorous 
challenge; and, as if in obedience to it, the birds scaled 
upward in a steep incline, and, to the old hunter's great 
joy, alighted on the branches of a huge maple. Two 
were in sight, craning their necks to watch the move- 
ments of the dog, and Uncle Gid drew a bead full on 
the breast of the lower one, too anxious to secure the bird 
to risk a shot at the jerking head. In response to the 
imperative crack of the rifle the bird dropped like a 
plummet, and expired in a miniature snow flurry of its 
own creation, which had scarcely ceased when the 
patched bullet was driven down 'upon the measured 
charge of powder, the cap pressed upon the nipple, and 
the rifle ready for another execution. At its spiteful 
crack the second partridge tumbled from its loftier perch, 
crashing through the branches below it, and scaring from 
among them the unseen third member of the trio, which 
dashed away into distance and safety. 
Gabriel abandoned the exploration of the thicket to 
ascertain the cause of so much firing, but the two dead 
birds did not seem to account for it satisfactorily. He 
searched the ground about them, then sniffed at the boll 
of the maple at first casually, then more carefully, then 
eagerly and standing on his hindlegs, and sniflSng at the 
trunk as high as he could reach, and mingling quavering 
sobs of inhalation with a broken whine which finally 
burst forth in a prolonged trumpet blast. 
"Sho, Gab'el! You're^ a-foolin' or bein' fooled," said 
Uncle Gid as he pocketed his game and carelessly ob- 
served his companion with an amused smile. "The' hain't 
nothin' up the tree naow." But Gabriel insisted to the 
contrary till his master came to him and examined the 
rough bark and found it scored with fresh claw marks. 
There were also a few long black and white hairs, with 
shorter ones of a neutral tint and finer texture, caught in 
clefts of the bark,, and after a minute studying of these 
signs Uncle Gid openly admitted: 
"Wal, I say for 't, I do' know but what you be right, 
arter all. Yes, sir, I guess the' is a coon or coons in 't!" 
and then backing slowly away from the trunk with 
his steadfast gaze as slowly climbing it, he discovered a 
hole just beneath one of the lower branches, the guess 
grew to a conviction. "Yes, sir, they come in afore it 
snowed, an' I'll go right home an' git an axe," and he set 
forth at once, while Gabriel maintained guard, assured of 
his master's return by the rifle left leaning against a tree. 
Half an hour later the woods resounded with the strokes 
of Uncle Gid's axe regularly delivered on the trunk of the 
hollow-hearted maple till it tottered and went down with 
a sweeping rush and crash of branches and a far-echoing 
boom. 
Then a bewildered coon came scrambling out of the 
hole, closely followed by another, and were met so quickly 
by Uncle Gid that the stunning blows of his axe fell upon 
their heads before they realized the cause of their rude 
awakening. 
The hound gave each limp body a shake, then thrust 
his muzzle into the hole and sniffed the interior with 
long-drawn inhalations, while Uncle Gid chopped into 
the hollow in several places to assure himself ttiat it har- 
bored no more of the family; and then, his curiosity some- 
how attracted thither, he drove the bat of the axe into 
the trunk at some distance above the doorway of the 
coons' chamber. 
"No, the' hain't nothin' more in 't, Gab'el, but tew 
coons hain't to be sneezed at, an' that 'ere youngest one '11 
help aout your Aunt Milly's Chris'mas 'mazin'ly. What 
— in— tunket!" he exclaimed in great surprise as he care- 
l0ssly lo6sened a chip and a few torpid bees fell with it 
onto the snow. "Honey, by hokey!" he cried out exult- 
antly when with a few more strokes he cleft out a longer 
chip and disclosed great longitudinal slabs of comb, some 
turned to the color of old gold with years of hoarding, 
some as bright as the virgin nuggets of Klondike. The 
discovery of this most unexpected treasure quite took 
away the old man's breath, and with it the power to give 
audible expression to his surprise and delight, though 
his face was first blank with one emotion, then broadly 
illuminated with the other; his form crooked into an in- 
terrogation mark, then straightened to one of unworded 
exclamation. But it remained so only until his breath 
was regained in a long inhalation, and then burst forth 
with slow vehemence. 
"Wal, by gun», Gab'el, if this 'ere hain't a Chris'mas 
tree! Tew pa'tridges, tew coons an' gobs an' gobs o' 
honey. Who ever see the beat o' that tu one haul I 
Whoop! hooray for us, Gab'el. An' yer Aunt Milly 'd 
holler tew if she was here. More honey 'n I can draw 
tu one jag in the brass kittle on the han'-sled, an' 'nough 
sie:ht better for Nancy's boy 'n any candy 't ever was ! 
Who, whoop ! Why don't ye hoot, Gab'el. Ta' care, 
you ol' fool -head. Keep yer nose aouten them bees, or 
they'll make ye play a diffunt tune on yer hoot horn. 
'They hain't dead, but sleepeth,' as the tomb stuns says. 
Who, whoop!" 
Far and near in the pearly arches of the woods the 
sleeping echoes awoke again to repeat the jubiliant chorus 
of the hunter and hound, and far away on the crest of 
the hill where the upper breezes sang among the pines 
the red-cockadfed log-cock, also hunting his Christmas 
fare, sent back a cheery answering ciy. 
Rowland E. Robinson. 
THE MOOSE VAMOOSING. 
We had come up from the "land of the linen shirt," and 
the wilderness lay before us. On one hand was Deux Ri- 
vieres; on the other, the Ottawa. Beyond was the "bush," 
unscored save by an occasional aimless woods road that be- 
gan anyhow and ended nowhere. Within its depths, we 
were told, roamed countless herds of moose, and goodness 
knows how many bears. So we gazed upon its fringe with 
interest not unmixed with hope. 
It was Ivory that was to blame. 
"Moose!" exclaimed he in New York, "Moose! Why, 
there are millions of them!" 
We believed him— that is, Jones and the editorial We. 
But Pierce didn't. Pierce just grinned a sad, wan smile and 
moved on. 
"Moose?" he murmured. "Oh, he means moose tracks. 
He'll tell you next that he has killed a moose — poor man!" 
Here Pierce lapped his temple suggestively and cast a pity- 
ing look at Ivory. 
Now, inasmuch as Ivory had on two different occasions 
brought back colossal heads from the Deux Rivieres region, 
We asked to be enlightened. 
"Simply this," said Pierce "I have been hunting for 
years to find a man with actual proof that he killed a moose, 
but I have never found him I have found men that came out 
of the woods with moose, with every circumstantial evidence 
that they slew them, but no absolute proof. I myself have 
hunted moose for years. 1 have never killed one. I never 
will. Neither will I ever find a man with the absolute proof. 
It is like turning up the left bower in euchre; like the man 
that has married his widow's sister. Ah, me !" 
Shedding a deep sigh, he moved on asain. 
But here wc were, anyhow — Jones, Pierce and We The 
tote team was laden, the buckboard stood ready, the Indians 
resUng and waiting. But there was nothing stranpe in this; 
the Indians were always waiting or resting There was 
Ohabot, Jean Dominick, Francois Landon and Peter, heir 
of all the Chabots. Peter was going into the bush for the 
first time. Before he came out we swore it would be the last 
time — with us, anyhow. But of that more later. 
"Peter — him cook," Chabot was explaining, when some- 
thing happened. It was largely in the nature of a young 
person in a brand new rubber coat and a song-and dance 
aecktie. 
"Well, I dunno," said he, "it's Sunday." Then he said 
suddenly, " Fuur dollars." 
This was translated by Pierce into the intimation that it 
was $4 or no ferry. Discovering that this was the ferry hire, 
and not the price of the ferrj line, including the Govern- 
ment franchise, Pierce proceeded to say things. After in- 
volving the Piovince of Quebec, Deux Rivieres, the ferry 
and the ferryman in a general disastrous hereafter, he gave 
up the $4 with the air of a man hard hit by a sandbag in a 
dark alley. 
"All right," said he, as a final threat, " We'll write to the 
papers when we get back!" 
But even this did not stagger the person in the rubber 
coat. Any man that could wear a rubber coat when the air 
was 92° in the shade would not be moved by a little thing 
like a newspaper. So Pierce moved on still again. 
Three miles out, after shaking the dust of the ferry from 
our feet, we came to a whitewashed log cabin in a clearing. 
It was tastefully decorated with a large French flag, and had 
an appetizing scent of cooking things, and we at once fell out 
of the buckboard. We had been doing this with more or 
less frequency during the three miles, but this time we fell 
out to some purpose. 
"Bernier'sl" exclaimed Pierce. 
"Bon jour, messieurs!" cried Mods. Bernier whereat he 
and Pierce fell upon one another's neck. Having been 
separated with some difficulty, Pierce introduced Mons. Ber- 
nier as an old friend, led him inside, and denianded a song. 
At this Mons. Bernier must sit down at an orchestrion, and, 
to add to our ravening hunger, sing the French chanson 
"The Swallow." It was only one swallow at that, and a 
scant sustenance for hungry men. But in the midst of it 
Mme. Bernier dragged her husband off and announced din- 
ner. God bless Mni.e. Bernier; may her shadow never grow 
less! She saved our lives. 
After that dinner the tote road ! Of that road what shall 
we say? The purest Anglo-Saxon could not do it justice; 
and, anyhow. We are too polite to put it in print. Sufiice 
that it was sixteen miles long, sixteen miles deep — in places 
— and just wide enough to let the trees bat our eyes out as 
we swept on to Hurdman's. Just before we got there, 
Pierce got out to shoot a partridge. No casualties; also no 
partridge. 
•Jones — his name was Jones, hut that was nothing against 
him — had been pretty quiet up to this time. But just about 
this time he discovered that he owned a pair of legs. So he 
began to move them about, and in the midst ©f this altercaf 
lion Hurdxnan's depot came into view. 
