FOREST AND STREAM. 
14 8 
"I shot a fbx coming' down here." 
"Did you, now? With that little gun?" 
"That little gun has more business to it than you think. 
With a soft pointed bullet and high pressure powder 
you could make beef of one of your cows at 50yds. first 
shot. But I'm looking for woodchucks this morning. 
Got any chucks hereabouts?" 
"Chucks enough to fill the barn right out in that field 
beyond the orchard." 
To the field I went at once. It reminded me of a stif- 
fened sea or a rolling prairie. From the highest ridge 
I could see the whole of it at once, about half a mile wide 
by a mile long. Yellow and brown stubble shone in the 
sun. Scattered apple trees dotted one end. Woods bor- 
dered all around. A trickling stream sparkled and dis- 
appeared amid long grass and tufts of bushes. Within 
range of the rifle 1 counted fourteen black dots, each 
with a red patch in front. There are the holes, anyway. 
Now for the chucks. 
I stretched out at full length on the side of the ridge 
away from most of the holes and waited. The sun 
warmed my back and the breeze cooled one side of my 
face. Rising heat-waves made the air shimmer, and dis- 
tant objects seemed to waver. In the blue distance above 
the woods rose the outlines of distant hills. There 
patches of bare rock shimmered like gray steel were out- 
lined by shade lines of deepest purple. Clumps of small 
trees presented soft forms of j^ellow-green. Old trunks 
of dead birches made vertical lines of white. A long 
time passed in the enjoyment of nature. Solitude, quiet, 
peaceful, and richly beautiful, brought to the imagination 
romance and vaguely drifting stories. I rested my head 
on my outstretched arm and luxuriated in the beautiful 
pictures that, without efTort, formed and changed, and 
passed before the mind's eye, an involuntary nature's 
drama. From my reverv I fell to watching the ants that 
were investigating the Gulliver who lay over their tiny 
nests. Their little feet and antennse tickled my bare skin, 
and I started to rise, and then I recollected why I was 
there. Probably that motion had sent every woodchuck 
head back into its hole. No, there sat three chucks 
upright, each on his earth-patch. Several holes were 
gray with heads, and I knew just how all the noses were 
working and smelling for a scent of the intruder. After 
a while I roUe'd a green apple down the opposite side of 
the ridge. The smallest chuck ran for it at once and 
sat up in plain view and ate it. More chucks appeared. 
Any one of them was an easy shot, but I decided to give 
them a fair chance for their lives. I selected one which 
I judged to a fat young female, and waved my hand on 
high, Instantly every chuck ran for his hole. Most of 
them halted at the entrance and turned their heads around 
in my direction and waited to see if they were pursued. 
T whistled and in they dived, turned around, and almost 
immediately stuck their heads out to look and sniflf. I 
guessed my youngster to be 75yds. di.stant, took out the 
long-distance cartridge and quietly substituted a soft- 
nosed, short-range one, raised the rifle sight two notches, 
took a careful bead on the center of the forehead and 
gently pressed the trigger. Every head but tliat one dis- 
appeared at the report. That one stayed just where it 
was, I didn't need to go get it, for it would certainly wait 
for me, so I gently put another cartridge in place and 
kept quiet. In a few minutes another hole became gray. 
A change in the rifle sight, another report like the crack 
of a child's whip, and the hole remained gray. A much 
longer wait, and then another substitution of a gray spot 
for a black one. Another crack, and one more chuck 
became mine. Three chucks and an 81b. rifle were enough 
to lug on a warm day, so I went from hole to hole and 
drew out the limp occupants by the ears, T called with 
my burden at the great farmhouse. They were having 
dinner, and I gladly accepted an urgent invitation to 
"set up to the table." 
Master and mistress, farm hands and maids, all put 
their knees beneath the same broad board. The jests 
were merry and personal, and the beans, boiled pork, 
cucumbers, "white cake," "sweet cake" and pie, as good 
as they smelled. Cheese and cider, after the meal, were 
passed as we tilted back in our chairs for the noonday 
rest The afternoon was spent in the hay field. The 
men took turns in pitching on and raking after, while I 
trod the load. In the shadow of a haystack was a jug 
of cider wrapped in a wet cloth. We all took care .not 
to let it get lonesome. 
In the cool of the late afternoon I started home with 
two of the woodchucks, and gathered the fox on the way. 
The dogs spied me from afar, and the game had to be put 
in a tree to keep it whole, while I shouted for the dogs to 
be called home and shut up before I could p"o on. The 
setting sun was richly coloring the clouds beyond the 
house as I toiled up thfe knoll with my burden, and sup- 
per and rest were pleasant prospects. 
V. 
No church bells broke the stillness of the next morn- 
ing. Neither did any crack of the rifle, or cast of fly 
or bait. But we did desecrate the early Sabbath morn- 
ing by preparing the game. Seated on a couple of great 
peeled hemlock logs, Almon dressed the iat young wood- 
chuck for roasting, and tacked the skins on the wood 
house door, while I deprived the fox of his robe. The 
hens recognized no Sunday, and were as amusingly, fran- 
tic for morsels of meat and fat as they; had been before 
for fish cleanings. The hen house, in front of us, gray 
and weatherworn, was a most interesting example of 
how twisted and rickety a hen house can be and yet 
stand. The farmer came and sat on log, and whittled 
for the sake of doing something. 
'T kinder think we'll hev comp'ny this arfnoon. The 
stoorkeeper seed ye when ye come, -an' he's prob'ly told 
ev'rybody 'round that there's that same city feller up 
here, an' some on 'em '11 be up to see you." 
Sure enough, dinner was hardly done when the dogs 
set up a chorus and rushed away down the road. We all 
went to the door and peered down the road after them. 
Soon a team emerged from the woods and rattled down 
the road to the accompaniment of flying gravel and bark- 
ing dogs, boomed across the bridges, and crawled slowly 
up the knoll. "Kin you make out who it is?" said "the 
farmer to Almon. "Link Belknap," said Almon. Now 
I knew that Link lived fully ten miles away, and I ap- 
preciated this kindness in coming so far to see me, and 
concluded that I would treat him to the best cigar he 
ever smoked. By this time the wagon camfe iirt© view 
again, and I saw there were Link, his wife, two daughters 
and a man I didn't know. They drove up to the door 
and proceeded to climb out. "How-y-yer," said the 
farmer. "How-y-yer," said Link, and "that was all the 
greeting that passed between them. They seemed drawn 
within themselves, like a quiet tortoise drawn within his 
shell because of something unusual in the vicinity. The 
women greeted the farmer's wife in the same shy way, 
but smilingly, I tried to make up for the apparent lack of 
cordiality, but I knew enough not say much at first. 
The horse was hitched in the shade, and we all repaired 
to "the settin' room," not by invitation, but seemingly 
by instinct. The "settin' room" was a great room taking 
the whole width of the house between the kitchen and 
my room, and here all drew chairs against the walls, and 
sat stiffly in the embarrassment of strange surroundings. 
The women seemed able to find a little something to say, 
and I tried city talk on the men, to draw them out, but 
soon found they preferred crops, the weather, farm work 
and things they knew about. Another chorus from th<; 
dogs announced Lish, the storekeeper, and his "wimmin- 
folks," We now made quite a party, and pretty well 
filled the wall space; but when another ferocious out- 
burst and another "Whoa" brought a man, his wife and 
baby, the men just naturally stayed out of doors, and left 
the women to keep house. We drifted along to the or- 
chard gate, and sat on the wall and the bars, and smoked 
my cigars, and heard about everybody's business, while 
I wondered what to do about all those women who had 
come so far, some of them from sheer friendliness, some 
of them for the ride, and the rest out of curiosity, to 
see a strange "city feller." What would you do in a case 
like that? The problem finally solved itself, and the 
wild strawberry patch in the afternoon shade of the woods 
knows the story of the city man's attempt to look un- 
conscious under covert observation. 
All hands stayed to supper, although one and all made 
a show of protesting, for pohteness' sake. The piece 
de resistance was a baked stufYed woodchuck garnished 
with water cress. Cold beans and brown bread, "white 
cake," ''dried apple sweet cake," pie, preserved plums, 
cherry jam, and the ever-present stewed leaves called 
tea were consumed in wholesale quantities. All the 
women felt it their duty to compliment the hostess on her 
"white cake"— known to city people as hot saleratus bis- 
cuit — and pan after pan of light, fluffy, red-hot cakes dis- 
appeared into dyspeptic stomachs. The correct way was 
to put a lump of butter on quarter of a biscuit, stuff it 
all into the mouth, fill any remaining space in the mouth 
with tea, and swallow both at once. Supper produced 
good cheer and heartiness and loosened all tongues. One 
after the other, in a string, the three teams rattled away, 
after cordial invitations to visit each family, 
"Well," said I when we were again by ourselves in the 
cozy kitchen, "this has been a red-letter day for you." 
"Ye.s," said the farmer, "I've gin away a good many 
meals in my life, an' I never make no 'count of it. I 
like to see folks around, an' I hope there'll be some come 
every Sunday. I ain't goin' to let you go home before 
winter." I smiled in the darkness for a long time. 
VI. 
The next day broke dark and cloudy. At breakfast I 
got permission for Almon to accompany me to Rattle- 
snake Pond, and he was so pleased he opened his mouth 
several times to speak, but thought better of it. We got 
a couple of gunnybags from the attic, to carry a spare 
flannel shirt apiece, lunch, bait and fish lines, hung them 
over the shoulders and tied them around the waist to 
keep them in place, and gun in hand, we went across the 
pasture and took an old trail through the woods. Up 
hill and down dale, over crags and through glades we 
hurried. An hour and a half of fast traveling brought us 
to a beaten road. We followed it a good many miles, 
and then took to the woods again. Another couple of 
miles, and we came suddenly to the shore of a large pond. 
It was long and wide. Rocky, wood-covered promon- 
tories extended out into it, cutting it into bays, and add- 
ing to the delight of exploration by continually offering 
new points of view. In most places the woods grew to 
the water's edge. Where we were was a grassy beach. 
We crossed a ridge and saw a fence running far out into 
the water, and a cow trying to wade around it. That 
meant a house near by. We sought the house, and 
gained it after a dispute with the dog. 
The owner was willing that we should take his boat, and 
between us we lugged it to the water. Almon had never 
been in a boat, so we tied .the guns by long ropes to the 
thwarts, so as not to lose them if we upset. Almon cut a 
fish pole, while I put mine together. Then we went along 
shore with a stick apiece and whacked a few dozen frogs 
on the heads, for bait for the 2ft. long pickerel we were 
looking for. Incidentally we secured a pretty, black turtle 
with bright yellow spots on its back. Then we pushed off 
and I paddled gently along the lily pads while Almon 
trolled. The water was placid, the air was quiet, the boat 
glided noiselessly. The peace of gentle Arcady brooded 
over all. Two-foot pickerel, or any other pickerel, didn't 
seem to want our acquaintance. I turned the boat's prow 
out into the pond- and started slowly across. Suddenly a 
peculiar wha-hoo-hoo-00 seemed to waver in the air all 
over the water. Almon caught my eye questioningly. 
Pretty soon we heard it again, but couldn't locate it, for it 
seemed to be all over the pond at once. "What do you 
think it is," I asked, "a bear or a panther?" 
"Ha, ha, that's the time you got fooled. It's a loon. 
Watch the bays near shore for a black speck. That's 
about all that shows; he swims so deep in the water. We 
will try him with the rifle, and you will see he will dive ai 
the flash, and be safe under water before the bullet gets 
to him." ~ 
Just then a sounding splash was heard, and Almon's 
pole was jerked from his careless hand and rushed away 
up the pond like an arrow from a bow. Away we went 
after it as fast as I could paddle, and after many trials 
caught it. Some monster at the end of the line pulled and 
struggled with tremendous strength, and darted hither and 
thither with such speed that the taut line cut the water 
with the sheer noise scissors make running through cam- 
.. brie. The boat rocked and pitched, and Almon pulled 
and pulled and held on for dear life, and the thing tried 
to dive and down it went in spite of his efforts until the 
stout pole bent half a circle, and the point was under 
water. Suddenly the strain relaxed and Almon's strength 
threw high in air the bio'O'est pickerel I ever saw, It 
seemed as if he went above the tree tops before he turned 
and came down. He fell flat on his side with a re- 
sounding splash that threw the spray in every direction, 
and we picked him up stunned and limp. Didn't we gloat 
over that prize? 
I laid down the paddle and we both set to fishmg in 
earnest. Pretty soon I had a fish on that made the reel 
sing, and I played him until he was tired, and then lifted 
him in to keep the first one company. He was a big fish, 
but he looked like a baby alongside of the other one. We 
caught one more, and not another bile could we get. 
Even the loons had stopped hallooing to us. So we went 
where the water sloped sharply down a bank, with pond 
lilies growing in a neighboring shallow. There we put 
on smaller hooks and baited them with worms, with a 
sinker just above, and caught perch small bass, and sun- 
fish about as fast as we could pull them in, A mink ran 
along the shore near by. A flock of partridges came to 
the water and drank without seeming to mind us in the 
least. Pretty soon a hedgehog looked out at us and tried 
to catch a breeze from our direction. "Try your gun on 
hrni, said 1. "Too far," said Almon. So the rifle sent its 
message and he joined the party. 
Then we went ashore and built a fire, and broiled some 
fish and ate our hard-boiled eggs, cheese, fish and gin- 
gerbread, Robins, bluebirds, yellow birds and a scarlet 
tanager watched us from above. Squirrels and a wood- 
pecker were tamer and showed a desire to be friendly 
We took our luxurious ease and watched our wild ac- 
quamtances, and looked out over the pond now rippling 
in an afternoon breeze, gray and blue-gray from cloud re- 
flections and brown m quiet places. Then we fished again 
Pretty soon we saw a very large bird flying on the water 
vvith wings flapping it at every stroke, tail and legs drag- 
ging as if held from below. "There's your loon " said 1 
trying to rise with his head to the wind. He is'^o heavy 
tor his wmg size that he has hard work to get out of the 
water, and it he were in a very small pond with high trees 
all around^he would be obliged to stay there, as if he were 
m a trap. The loon, free above the water, circled the 
pond twice to get above the tree tops, long neck out- 
stretched and wings going like a blur. "That loon comes 
Here to feed, and the chances are that he goes to some 
nearby pond to sleep, and that reminds me that, with the 
distance we have to go, we better be starting for home " 
i looked at my watch and it was 4 -30 
We hurried the boat ashore and tied it where we had 
been told, divided the fish, hedgehog and chipmunks be- 
w^^" "fji "^"^ ^^"'/"^ '''^ ^'^^ ^ P^'^tty good load apiece. 
We could not go home at the speed we had come, and 
darkness and imminent prospect of rain overtook us on the 
beaten road. VVc had dilficulty in finding the path into 
the forest, and greater difliculty to keep the path, which 
wasnt much of a path m the daytime. After a time we 
concluded we were lost, I had a few matches, and we 
lighted one. No sign of a path. "Well, my boy, i gue.. 
we better find the nearest place and camp." But Almon 
was afraid his parents would worry, and thought we better 
push on a little while longer. When only onl. iJtch wa 
frnJ^^'^T^ bazed tree, which Almon recognized, and 
from which he thought he could g6 home. On and on we 
stumbled with irequent falls in inky darkness, which i 
dreaded tor my gun s sake. Yet the poor gun would be 
about as badly off if we camped and rain came on So 
we kept pushing ahead, Almon leading, until I ran into the 
roots of an upturned tree, which struck me at once in 
knees, stomach and head. That struck me as a familiar 
bump, and I spent my last match to look at it Yes I 
knew that tree, and we were going wrong, for the fallen 
trunk ought to point nearly home. On we went again with 
iiopes renewed, and soon we reached the pasture. I know 
that one oi us at least felt like singing. 
Down the pasture slope we went, with fights in the 
windows in full view, and cool breeze feeling good to 
the face, for we were bathed in perspiration trom hard 
traveling and extra shirts on. What's that odor = That's 
the very odor that has haunted me for years. I have a 
curious knack of never forgetting a smell, and the remem- 
brance ot odors, like other recollections, occasionally 
comes to mmd. Ihis particular smell was apparently a 
recollection of childhood, and had come to memory many 
tunes, and bothered me a good deal, for, try as I would I 
could neither associate it with subject nor place. It was 
only a delightful, fugitive trick of memory. Now here 
It was m reality. I started on a run for the house, and 
It grew constantly stronger, richer and more alluring I 
threw open the porch door, and without stopping to greet 
the anxious inmates, "What's that .smell?" i asked. The 
room was fragrant with it, but it was strongest in one 
direction, and i traced it right up to the brick oven, where 
a thin steam came through the crack at the top of the 
door.__ "VVhat are you baking?" I queried. "Cake pud- 
ding, said. the farmer's wife. In.stantlv a fiood of recol- 
lections came over me, and I remembered that delicious 
dish I had had once, and only once, in my life, and never 
could recollect where. Supper was a delight, not only 
because of hunger, but because of that dessert of the 
queerest, richest sticky paste of a pudding, eaten with 
cream, that ever a mortal put into his watering mouth. 
Lilce the Indian pudding, it was baked in a closely covered 
pot. Why It is so good I can not tell, for it is made 
ot common scraps of cake, gingerbread, "white cake," 
butter and molasses. What else the farmer's wife alone 
knows, and it is her secret of manipulation that makes it 
what It is, unique, delicious, and what it is. 
VII. 
Well, I wish I could tell of all the pleasant incidents 
of the weeks at this charming old-fashioned farm. I 
would like to tell the story of how Almon and I fell over 
a sleeping bear, and the way Almon told the adventure 
afterward, for the fright loosened his tongue, and he there- 
after forgot his bashfulness. But stories and vacations 
must come to an end some time, and the day finally came 
when I was to return to the citj^ Our next neighbor, who 
was going to the village, offered to take me, and at the 
appointed time drove up to the house. ' We put the trunk 
aboard, while all stood around to say good-by and have 
the last handshake. 
"Now you be sure to come down this fall, when 
pa'tridges is good," said the farmer. 
"Indeed I will try to," said I. 
