B02 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec, 23, 1809. 
Tor €bri$tmd$ Readittd. 
Sam's Boy.— IV. 
The house was very quiet when they eiitei-ed the 
kitchen. The doctor was gone, but the odor of his 
decoctions still lingered, and Aunt Jerusha and Maria 
Hill were busy at the stove with several messes^ some 
nutritious, others medicinal. Mrs. Ptirington sat apart 
in a rocking chair, critically observant, and with an air 
of general disapproval, her smelling bottle and handker- 
chief in either hand. 
"Wal, young man," she sighed, regarding her grand- 
son mournfully and quite ignoring Uncle Lisha, "your 
nose is aout o' j'int!" 
Sammv put one hand to that rotund feature, and was 
not a little surprised to find that he had suffered no 
perceptible change, "Where's mammy?" he asked. 
"Why. bless his dear heart!" cried Aunt Jerusha, 
"Mammr's in the bedroom an' she's got a leetle sister 
for him," 'at the darkter fetched in his saddle bags, an' 
he shall go right in an' see it!" 
Wherewith she took him by the hand and led him to 
Huldah's bedside, where she was lying very still and 
pale, with a world of love beaming from her soft eyes 
for her little boy when he was lifted up to kiss her and 
be shown the wee miss of humanity that was cuddled be- 
side her. 
"She liain't so pooty as the new pigs," he com- 
mented. "Will she see some time, an' talk, an' walk?" 
"Yes, deary, an' be a dear little sister for him to 
play with an' ta' care of." 
Then with many injunctions to lie very still, he was 
left to lie beside his mother and whisper his story of 
the day's adventures. Returning to the kitchen he had 
some disparaging remarks to make concerning his new 
relative, and of the doctor as a purveyor of such additions 
to the family. 
"If I was the darkter I'd keep 'em till they got bigger 
afore I fetched 'em," he said, thinking it would be a long 
time for him to wait for this nestling to become an avail- 
able playmate. Ruby Hill's dolls Avere better, for they 
would bear rough handling, while he was scarcely per- 
mitted to touch this fragile mite. 
"Wal, I du hope tu land o' goodness," Mrs. Purington 
groaned, "whatever comes, when it comes tu namin' 
this Ijaby, she won't be named so utter ridic'lous as what 
he is! I du think it's time my folks was considered a 
leetle in a-namin' my grandchildren. Errnice would be 
a nice name for her, an' would come real handy for her 
tu hev all my sheets and tablecloths marked '_E. B.' in the 
right-hand corner, some in cross-stitch an' some with 
endurable ink, an' all she'd hafter du 'd be tu put on a 
'L.' Don't let me forgit tu mention that tu Huldy in 
the mornin'. But, oh, dear me, suzzy day! I p'sume tu 
say. that ol' Gran'ther Hill — my sakes, M'rier, what hev 
I said? But I won't spile a story for relation's sake — '11 
come over here an' coax 'em tu name her Rew-by or 
Mer-ri-er or mebby that Antwine Frenchman '11 git 'em 
tu name her after his womern. Some way they'll work 
it tu take a name aouten honest people's maouths. 
But she won't git my linen sheets an' tablecloths 't 
I wove when I was a gal, an' no gal naow-er-days knows 
'nough tu spin, let alone warpin' a web. I do' know 
what this world is a-comin' tu! It does seem as 'ough 
the next ^gineration wouldn't know nothin' !" She sought 
consolation for the degeneracy of the times in her smell- 
ing bottle, and shut her eyes upon a naughty world. 
"Oh, law sakes! I guess there'll be a naipe pervided 
some way; the' allers has b'en, an' what a lot on 'em!" 
said Aunt Jerusha, cheerfully, as she bore a basin of gruel 
in to Huldah. 
"Unc' Lisher, Aunt 'Rushy says she guess' you'll cover 
my ball," the little boy said, coming to the shoe bench 
■ and laying a newly wound ball. of yarn on the old man's 
knee. It was tightly wound of raveled stocking yarn 
ahout a core of India rubber made of strings cut from 
one of the shapeless rubber overshoes of those days, and 
was wonderfully elastic, as Uncle Lisha proved by cast- 
ing it smartly on the floor, whence it bounded almost to 
the smoky ceiling, and at the second rebound splashed 
into the water tub, where it bobbed up and down for an 
instajit before it was snatched forth by Uncle Lisha's 
rescuing hand. 
"Good airth an' seas! That was tew bad tu go an' 
chuck that 'ere new ball inter • the natsy ol' tub !" he 
shouted, wiping the dripping toy on his apron. "My! 
it's alive, hain't it? An' it jest went an' hopped in there 
for fun. But it hain't hurt it one mite, an' he needn't 
go tu puckerin' up his face abaout that! We'll let that 
'ere baby in there du the cryin' — she hain't nothin' else 
tu tend tu. Naow, I hain't go no piece o' luther in the 
shop fit fur tu kiver such a neat ball, but I know where 
the' is some 'at '11 du it complete wi' jest a leetle mite o' 
fixiin'. It's on a' ol' woo'chuck naow, but it's jest a- 
itchin' for tu git on this ball an' ha' some fun. An' I 
da' say the woo'chuck feels jest that way about it, for 
he's b'en a-eatin' your daddy's clover an' a-tramplin' 
of it daown this tew year, an' onc{e he stole some beans, 
an' he'd orter feel ju' like makin' some returns for all 
he's hed. 
"I hain't got nothin' drivin' on hand, so I'll git one 
o' your daddv's traps an' we'll gwup an' talk it over wi' 
Mr. Woo'chuck." 
He went in quest of a trap, with which he presently 
returned, and the two set forth, the child clinging to 
the old man's finger to keep himself on foot in the 
tangle of May weed that bordered the wagon track. Thej'- 
soon entered the meadow, and afar off over the clover 
and the budding daisies saw the woodchuck sitting at his 
open door, a brown lump in the yellow threshold of fresh 
loam. 
"There he is!" said Uncle Lisha, stopping to cut and 
trim a crotehed stick- from a hazel thicket. "He's a- 
waitin' for us. but he'll run intu his haouse long 'nough 
'fore we git there. An' then, like "nou.firh, he'll come 
3out tu §tfl,r, m' ^0 hnrn wj' j|s, fpebby. 'hong hst Ml, 
when the clover begin tu git frosted, an' the ol' bumble 
bees 'at got drunk on the honey, an' laid aout over 
night, waked up mighty stiff in the mornin', an' ol' Mr. 
Woo'chuck smelt the col' weather comin' nigh, he jest 
went int' furder eend o' his suller an' curled up an'^ 
shet his eyes an' went tu sleep an' dreamed o' clover an' 
bean patches till they come true in the spring. 
"I do' know whether or no it was a robin a-singin' 
'at woke him, or the blackbirds down by the brook, or 
a skunk come in an' bid him good- mornin', _ but some 
way or 'nother he got woke up an' come aou' door, an' 
the snow wus all gone, an' the' was a twinge o' green 
on the warm sidehills. I most wish 't we could du ju' so, 
only we'd miss the skatin' an' slidin' daown hill. Yip! 
there he goes a-whistlin' int' his hole!" 
A whisk of the brown tail was the last they saw of him 
for a while, and a smothered whistle the last they heard. 
Uncle Lisha drove the stake through the chain-ring, set 
the trap, covered it carefully and removed to a cozy 
bend of the bank, where the old man lighted his pipe; 
and Sammy, after the manner of his kind, began teasing 
for another story. But while U^ncle Lisha was rum- 
maging his wits vend the landscape for a subject, the 
brown nose of the woodchuck reappeared, making a 
cautious reconnoisance; there was a sharp metallic click, 
a clink of the chain, and a loud, querulous whi.stle that 
was smothered instantaneously in the depths of the bur- 
row. ■ _ 
"Hooray! We got him!" Uncle Lisha shouted, get- 
ting quickly to his feet and hurrying to the place, Sam- 
my running beside him in breathless excitement. 
The chain was drawn taut, and the stake was quivering 
with the strain upon it. Uncle Lisha loosened and pulled 
it up, and began drawing forth the captive. Now the 
trap appeared with a brown leg in its vise-like grip, then 
a grim, grizzled head, growling and gnashing the long 
white teeth. 
"Oh, I do' want no cover on my ball!" Sainmy cried, 
THE CAMP AND CHAUNCEY S HEAU. 
shrinking back. "Let him go, Unc' Lisha; let him go!" 
"Bless your heart, child, he can't hurt nob'dy! See!" 
the old man said, reassuringly, and gave the poor brute 
a stunning blow, which, twice or thrice repeated, put an 
end to his struggles. "My, hain't he a nice fat one, an' 
won't his hide make a complete kiver for aour ball, oncte 
we git it tanned good!" and now that the cruelty of 
capture and killing were over the boy's nature began to 
assert itself, and he, too, exulted over the exploit, yet 
not without twinges of remorse, 
"Hain't he big? An' haow quick we ketched him! 
But he won't never come aout an* see haow pooty all 
aou'doors is! Poor of woo'chock. Say, Unc' Lisher, 
when we git most burn' may I kerry him?" 
"Oh, I guess we do' wanter lug his ol' carkis hum, du 
we? He's tough an' strong, but Bub can kerry the skin 
hum, just as his daddy doos he's fox skins," and Sam- 
my being reconciled to this arrangement, Uncle Lisha 
stripped off the skin, and the two went home, the boy 
running in advance to display the trophy and tell the 
story of its capture. 
Uncle Lisha consigned it to the soap barrel without 
knowledge of the too fastidious women kind, whence 
it was taken after a couple of days, ready to yield the 
bedraggled hair to persuasive scraping, and then was 
pulled, rubbed and kneaded until it becme as pliable as 
a glove, and as yellow as a lemon. 
"An' naow I b'lieve if that ol' woo'chuck could see 
it he wouldn't know it. an' if he did. he'd be praoud on't." 
said Uncle Lisha. "Oncte when Clapham was a boy._ a- 
goin' tu school, he was allers a-dickerin'," said he, musing 
on the past. "In the summer he'd ketch woo'chuck an' 
tan the' hides an' make 'em intu shoe-strings for a pint 
o' corn a pair, an' the lashes for a quart, an' then he'd 
sell the corn for nick-nacks — pins an' needles, an' but- 
tons an' combs, an' then he'd peddle 'em_ aout for cash, 
an' so arter a spell got tu keeoin' store. That is the way- 
he got a start in the world." 
According to some occult rule, the old shoemaker cut 
the skin into oval quarters and sewed them over the 
ball with waxed ends, and soon had it ready to meet the 
fate of all balls, which is to get hopelessly lost. 
"There," he said, handin.g it over to its proud owner, 
"You can plav tew ol' cat, or barnbase, or most any- 
thing wi' that 'ere. ball naow," and Sammv went forth re- 
joicing, - ■ "ROVVLAND E. RQBINSO?f. 
|tp bis cdtttinued next wepk.] 
Five Foot Five. 
Theee may be sermsns in stones and running brooks, 
but in the footmark of the moose is a whole hand-book 
of philosophy. This, of course, may sound like a mixed 
figure of speech, but none the less it is sense. I know. 
On divers occasions I have followed the trail. It be- 
gan, years ago, on the back slopes of Saddelback and 
Baker mountains in Maine. Then it switched eastward to 
Sourdnahunk and the mighty, mystic Katahdin, rising 
purple out of the wooded knolls of Pamedumcook and the 
Ambijeejis. Again, it was at Rainbow and Nahmakanty 
ponds; ever the same, always^ teaching the philosophy 
that man can expect in this vale of tears only death and 
taxation. 
Again: Now the spoor led down by the headwaters 
of the Ottawa, east of Temiscamingue, the deep water, 
round Hamilton and Rascicot, by Line Lake and the great 
Caughwana. I was trying valiantly. Sometimes, as a 
change, 1 sat with frozen marrow, listening with chat- 
tering teeth to the reverberating, mourning echo of the 
horn. Again and again came the answer, the short, eager 
guttural of the answering bull. But in the end it was 
always the same. The only thing lacking, the great bull 
with the antlers as widespreading as the beech of Tityrus, 
I could not see. 
Last year, after a heartrending journey by horse and 
foot, I wandered into the wilds of Bald Mountain, where 
the Little Tobiaue rises in the blue water of Nictor. As 
usual, I saw many moose, and as of old, let them go by 
unmolested. As a feature of m.y luck, one bull, a monster, 
answered our call. But it came not to me. Below, in a 
canoe on Mud Pond, sat my friend. Col. John Wesley 
Hunt, of Louisville, Ky. In his hands was a brand new 
rifle, of small caliber, but deep penetration. It was his 
first time in the big woods; he had never seen a moose. 
His heart was filled with a desire to fill the east wall of 
his dining room with the head of a leviathan, and unaware 
of my ability to hoodoo, had elected to hunt his trophy 
with me. He fired five times at that moose, and never 
having fired in the dark before, bored merely five small 
holes through the atmosphere. The moose, I may say. 
retired. Ad Moore, the guide, said his horns measured 
5 feet across ; I should jtidge from their description it was 
seven. But I do not know. 
Again I went home without the moose. The two I had 
shot in years gone by dwindled into negative memories. 
My vow was still unbroken. I had foresworn to kill 
nothing but the monster. Hope still sprang wildly within 
my breast. I promised to return to New Brunswick when 
the year swung round again. 
"Listen," said the Hon. Chauncey. "I have never shot 
a moose." 1 
"Same here," said the robust Robert. 
"Little better," said I. 
We agreed upon New Brunswick. I wrote to the dis- 
tinguished Mr. George Green, of St. Elmo. It was all 
arranged. At 11 P. M, of Nov. I we arrived at the ex- 
cellent hostelry of Mr. Allan Perley, on the left bank of 
the Tobique, 
"Hello," murmured Mr. Perley, in mild astonishment. 
"Still after that moose?" 
We set into the woods near the head of the Tobique. 
George pointed the course over an abandoned tote road 
that seemed like a mezzotint of Newtown Creek at low 
water. Ere long it snowed,, and we were greatly cheered 
thereat. 
In addition to George, we were attended by the brothers 
Day. They caUed themselves Day, but together they 
seemed little more important than an hour. I trust you 
will permit me to dismiss them in a paragraph. We dis- 
missed them when we got to the headwaters of the 
Miramichi with a little more than that, but I do not recol- 
lect \vhat we said, and at any rate it would be unfit for 
publication. George assisted. It was no fault of his 
that we had been led to engage the two, but it was a 
fortunate thing. It led to our getting Henry Lewis and 
Bobby Knowlton, two excellent, observing woodsmen, 
cheerful, full of adventure, and most excellent cora^ 
panions.. .But to resume: 
"How big must he be?" asked, George, tentatively, 
speaking of the moose. 
"Not less than 4 feet wide, George, and anywhere up 
to eight. Beyond that, I draw the line. What are the 
chances, George?" 
"Dear knows," said he, titillating one ear in doubt. 
Our filrst day of hunting was on a fresh, soft snow. 
The Hon. Chauncey vrent southwest; the robust Robert 1 
went southeast; I went north. Nightfall came, and as 
usual I had no moose. It was the same with Robert. 
Also, it was likewise and rather different with the Hon. 
Chauncey. 
It was dark when he returned to camp. He staggered 
inside, dropped with abandon into a seat, and sighed. His 
rifle fell clattering into a corner unheeded; his woe was 
unspeakable. Henry, snapping open the stove door, swore 
gently into the flames. 
"It measured 50 inches," said the Hon. Chauncey. 
"Or 56," muttered Henry. 
"There were three of them — two bulls, both big, and a 
cow. I overshot." 
"At 80 yards — only his head and shoulders showed," 
muttered Henry, with consoling grace. 
It was the old, old story, with a variation. There was 
excuse for the overshooting. The rifle showed it. One 
sight Avobbled up and doAvn like a loose front tooth in the 
hand of experimenting youth. With such a gun. one 
might fire at a landscape and destroy the planetary sys- 
tem. 
The two had tracked the bulls above two rniles. and 
come upon them standing in a thicket. The big bull alone 
showed till the shot, when the others jumped into view. 
The Hon. Chauncey was paralyzed with regrets. He was 
advised that about ten years of experience would harden 
hifn. 
I went eastward toward the head of the Miramichi the 
following day, and saw no moose, although signs were 
abundant. None was fresh, however, and we spent a 
futile day looking for a new track to follow. Once 
George and T thought we saw a bull, and spent a he;irt- 
rending fifteen minutes. crawling up On him. It proved 1' , 
be merely a ghost, however, for when we^ got up to the 
place there was neither 3 moose nor any track or tr.icf 
of one. 
