Jan. 13, 1900.1 
'Gittm' auot baskit splints, be ye?" Uficli Lisha in- 
quired. '"Wal, your womern's a-makin' a neat one^ sar- 
tain. An' what's t'other feller cal'late tu da wi' them 
spruce rhuts, if I might ask?" 
"Sew lun eanoe," the splint pounder answered lacon- 
ically. 
"Oh, you're a-goin' tu make a kernew, hey?" the old 
man asked, and presently descried a great roll of. freshly 
peeled birch bark. 
"Yas, make um canoe," the Indian answered. "No git 
um good bark dar," indicating the lake valley by a nod 
in that direction. "Tree too small. Me come here five- 
six year 'go. Make um canoe for Sam Lovet. You 
know um Sam Lovet?" 
"Sam Lovel! Good Lord, yes! I live 'long wi' him, 
an' this 'ere's his boj'." 
"Hees boy? Wal. he nice boy," the Indian said, re- 
garding Sammy with more interest, as did his compan- 
ions after he had spoken to them in their own language, 
whose soft monotony fell in with the babble of the brook 
and the murmur of the wind in the trees as harmoniously 
as if it were but another voice of nature. "Lovet good 
man," he said, leaning his axe agai^ist the log and slouch- 
ing over to a bunch of baskets hanging on a tent pole. 
He select-ed a small bright-colored one and put it in 
Samrny's timid hands. "Me give boy dat for peek um 
berry," and Sammj-^ stared speechlessly until prompted by 
his mentor. 
"An" wha' d' ye say for that, Bub?" And then in con- 
fusion he stammered: 
"Thank ye, marm." 
Uncle Lisha seated himself comfortably at a favorable 
point of observation, and having filled his pipe offered to- 
bacco to the Indians, who filled and lighted their pipes, 
while the Httle boy sat in rapt admiration of his basket, 
as fascinating in its smoky, woodsy odor as in its bright 
colors and neat workmanship. When his eyes were taken 
olif it their attention was divided between, the nimble fin- 
gers of the woman and the man's, so skillfully splitting of 
the slender roots that the halves were always of like thick- 
ness, coaxed to equal division by slight tunis of the 
wrists. 
"Haow much be you a-goin' tu tax me for a bow-arrer 
the right size for a chap like this 'ere?" indicating Sam- 
my by a twist of the thumb. 
"Oh, guess twen'-five cen", bow an' one arrerh," the 
Indian answered, taking measure with his ej'e of the 
prospective archer. After duly considering the matter 
L^ncle Lisha gave the order witl^ the addition of another 
arrow, foreseing that one would be lost and that there 
should be another to send in search of it. 
The splint pounder picked up an unavailable bit of 
basket stuff and at once began fashioning an arrow with 
a peculiar crooked knife which he held with his palm up- 
ward and always drew toward him. In all their move- 
ments these people were so deliberate — as if to-day would 
wait on them indefinitely and the morrow was not to be 
considered — that Uncle Lisha could not help thinking 
how Joseph Hill would en^'y their infinite leisure. If it 
were to light a pipe or to save a bit of meat from burn- 
ing, the one was gone about as deliberately as the other, 
and one could but think good and bad fortune would be 
accepted with equal equanimity. 
Sammy's heart was won by the gift of the basket, and 
they had taken as kindly to him, so that during their 
stay he was a welcome and frequent visitor, with Uncle 
Lisha, his father or his mother, whom he brought to the 
camp and introduced. When it came to building the 
canoe he was never tired of watching the patient work, 
from the smoothing of the ground and driving the 
stakes, the Aveighting down of the frame with stones upon 
the great sheet of bark, the slitting of it and sewing, when 
the spruce roots came to play their part, the raising of 
the frame to its place, as gimwales and cross bars, the 
lining of the canoe with cedar strips, lengthwise and 
athwart, and the final pitching of seams with turpentine 
and grease; when the beautiful craft, staunch and light, 
was ready for voyaging over the shallows of shaded 
woodland streams or the turbulent depths of the lake. 
Samy became expert enough with the bow to frighten 
the chipmunks he shot at, and one day came to the camp 
boasting that he had hit the ear of a hare that he found 
sitting in her form. 
"An' what makes a rabbit have such long ears an' 
hind legs?" he asked Tocksoose, Who was chief spokes- 
man of the Indian trtQ in their intercourse with their 
white neighbors. 
"Oh, dat come so, long time 'go," Tocksoose answered 
as he punched the bark with an awl and followed it with 
a thread of root "Den rabbit base long tail an' short 
hin' leg an' ear jus' same anybody. Den one day fox be 
hungry an'chase rabbit, oh, very hard, so rabbit run in 
hole in rock — so big hole fox can run in too. Den rab- 
bit go in far end, an dar lee'l hole go out, jus' mos' 
big 'nough so rabbit can go t'rough an' fox ketch it by 
his leg an' pull, an' rabbit pull with fore leg an' cry so 
hard like babj^ squaw hear an' come for help it; ketch 
hoi' ear an pull so fox le' go leg an' pull tail, so tail pull of? 
short, an' squaw pull rabbit out But he look so he ain't 
know heself— ear pull out long, hin' leg pull out long an' 
tail all pull off mos'; an" when fox see, he ain't know it 
was rabbit, an' he jump so far wid dat long hin' leg he 
can't ketch it. Den when winter come an' snow fall.'rab- 
hil .set still an' let snow come all over him, so fox'can't 
see hmi close by if he shut up hees eye; an' now he always 
have ear an' hm' leg long an' tail short, an' he white 'in 
winter.'' 
"That's a real good story, Mr, Tocksoose," said Sam- 
my, only eager for more. "An' was it some such way the 
minks got black?" 
" Yas. guess so. You see, Wonakake— dat's otter— got 
mad cause mink ketch um so many fish, so he chase 
mmk for kill it. an' mink pooty scare. He all white then 
jus' same weasel in wintrr. so otter can see it great way 
Qit: an mink can't hide. So he run in where fire burn tree 
an rub hese'f on burnt tree so he all black. Den he turii 
roun' an' walk back, an' byme bye meet otter run hard 
Otter ain t know dat black ffller, an' ask it. 'You see 
)nink go dis way?' Mink say no, he an't see it Otter 
t ink funny he can smell mink but c-^n't see it, an' run on 
fast, but never ketch um mink. Mink like um colqr so 
well he always keep it, an' ketch 'em more fish as ever 
'cattle fi.sh can't see um so easy, an' so he be black now.'' 
"That's a good story, too," Sammv gave corjdial ap- 
proval. "Won't you tell some more?" 
No, dat all me know for tell um to-day," Tocksoose 
answered, intent upon his sewing. Sammy thought it 
strange that a man of such experience in woodcraft 
should have but two stories to tell in one day, yet re- 
mained silent while he watched Mrs. Tocksoose prepar- 
ing some trout for cooking. 
She slipped six dressed trout crosswise into the cleft 
of a green wand, tied the cleft end together with a strip 
of bark, thrust the other end into the ground and slanted 
this primitive broiler at a proper angle over the coals, 
and then resumed her basket weaving after washing her 
hands m the brook— for she kept them scrupulously clean 
for this delicate work, though nothing else in the camp 
showed so much care. Sammy thought Uncle Lisha's 
mode of cooking fish preferable to hers, bttt forbore any 
disparaging comments. 
"Didn't you never kill no bears?" he asked, turning his 
attention to the canoe maker with a view to more stories. 
"\as, me kill um good many bear," Tocksoose an- 
swered. 
"Haow du you hunt 'em?" 
"Oh, bes' time in fall when fust snow come. Den bear 
go look for place sleep all winter, an' me foller track in 
snow. Sometime find 'em in hole of rock; den no can git 
ub. Sometime he jus' curl up an' go sleep under root 
where tree blow over; den can git um easy. Jus' shoot 
an' kill um" 
"Oh, hain't that fun?" cried Sammy, hugging his knees. 
"Sometime; not all time," said Tocksoose. "One day 
me find um bear so under tree. Den look um in for see. 
Bear mad for be wake up, jus' same you s'pose you git 
sleep all good, den somebody come wake you. Bear 
come out, 'Woof!' Me ketch um foot on stick, fall on 
back ; bear come right top, bite hard— see !" He showed 
some ugly scars on one hand. "Den open mout' for bite 
more. My brodder right close by; shoot um bear right 
in head; fall right on me; blood plenty all over me. 
Den skin um bear, git um lot grease, git um lot meat, 
git um bounty. Dat all right." ' 
"That wa'n't all so much fun," said Sammy; and then 
began teasing for more; but nothing further was to be 
got from Tocksoose that day, so the boy reluctantly went 
his way homeward. 
"Well, Where's mammy's man been all this time?" his 
mother asked as he made his appearance in the kitchen. 
"Oh, huntin' an' visitin' 'long wi' the Injuns," he an- 
swered, going over to the cradle to inspect the sleeping 
baby. 
"Well, he ought to ask afore he goes off so. Mammy 
worries when she don't know where her little man is." 
"Unc' Lisher don't ask when he goes," Sammy argued 
in excuse. 
"Oh, but Uncle Lisher is a great big growed-up man; 
the' wouldn't nothin' hurt him. S'posin' a bear ketched 
Sammy ?" 
"I do' know, 'cause X hain't got no brother to shoot 
him, as Mr. Tocksoose had when a bear come right top 
on him. Baby couldn't, 'cause she hain't big 'nough. Say, 
I'm a-goin' tu ask Darkter to bring me one." 
"Or s'posin' he got lost, same as Aunt Polly did oncte 
an' would ha' died 'way off in the woods if Daddy hedn't 
faound her?" 
"Oh, I'd holler an' he'd find me," he answered, in the 
fullness of perfect faith. 
"Well, he mustn't go 'way so any more," said Huldah 
m final disposition of the question. 
Having this rule impressed upon him. Sammy's next 
visit to the Indian camp was made with his mother's per- 
mission. As he drew near he heard no sound but the 
continual babbling of the brook and the occasional join- 
ing with it of a wood thrush's song, like a jangle of sil- 
ver bells. When he came to the place he found it quite 
deserted— the dingy tent gone, the beds of everygreen 
twigs naked of blankets, the fire dead, the last used 
wooden spit and broiler slanted over the cold ashes be- 
neath the blackened crotches and pole on which the ket- 
tle used to swing as it bubbled and seethed so cheerily. 
The ground was littered with shavings, refuse splints and 
scraps of birch bark warped into yellow rolls. It all 
looked so desolate and deserted that poor Sammy was 
heavy hearted enough over the departure of his friends- 
gone like summer birds, without warning or farewell. 
Rowland E. Robinson. 
[to be CONTIlvrUED NEXT WEEK,] 
On the West Coast, 
Tarpon Springs, Fla., Dec. io.—Editor Forest and 
stream: Home once more! After two months of very 
pleasant outing the Kingfisher is again at her moorings 
m the Spring. 
What did we shoot? Hq.W many fish did we catch? 
lo answer both questions at once: We did not go to 
shoot or fish, but to do any or neither, as the notion 
took us. The cruise was organized with the understand- 
mg that we were to be absolutely free to go as far, to 
stop as long, and to come back when we got ready We 
wanted to get out doors, to stroll on the beach— gather 
shells, watch the fish and the birds, explore every little 
bay or creek that promised anything of interest To 
oe at home wherever we were, to start when we pleased 
and stop when we got ready. 
The programme was faithfully carried out, and the 
cruise was one of the few things in life to be looked back 
to without regret or a wish to change. 
But I did not set out to tell you about the cruise alto- 
gether. That will do for another time— that is providino- 
Forest and Stiieam readers want it. 
The outing was delightful, but I was glad to get home 
Jill the same. Glad to meet mv friends, glad to see my 
home, to see my trees, my roses, pet my cats and my 
chickens, pick up my correspondence, but gladdest of all 
to read up the good old Forest and Stream It o-ets 
better every day. When I got hold of the first paper of 
bam s Isoy I was happy. What a debt we all owe Mr. 
Kobinson! May his shadow never be less! 
And I have a little jubilee of my own to tell you about 
too. Many of your readers know I have long been 
searching for an old book— "Tales of the Ocean." Well 
It s here at last, after twenty years of searching Eureka' 
It came while I was away, and Mrs. Tarpon quietly laid 
It away for a Christmas surprise— and it was a surprise, 
too. ihe old book that I had not seen for fifty years- 
it seemed like the renewal of an old friendship. After all 
the time, it was as familiar as though I had laid it down 
but yesterday. It almost made me a boy again. I am 
inofs, ^^sily pleased than I used to be. Many things 
which I used to / take quite serious seem petty to me 
310W. I wonder if age brings the same change to all. 
And Antler is gone. Only a short time ago (Oct. 12) 
he wrote me, "If I live through January I shall b« 
eighty-eight years old. I cannot expect many more yeal s 
or even months." He was a great admirer of Nessmtik, 
and never wrote me without speaking of him. As one 
said who knew Mr. Stratton well, "He was a kindly, 
lovable old man." 
I was glad Sir Thomas did not get the Cup, and yet 
I rather hoped he would sometimes. He made a gen- 
.tlemanly fight for it, and if any one ever deserved to 
win It was Sir Thomas Lipton. He Avon something bet- 
ter, however--the love and respect of all who met him. 
Ihe Shamrock was a good boat, but the old Cup has 
become so wonted to America that it will take a very 
good boat to carry it oft. The first yacht race I ever saw 
was when the America Avon the Cup in 1851, and it only 
seems a feAV days ago. I was but a lump of a boy, but I 
remember it well. I suppose everything in the boating 
line IS very quiet noAv in New York waters, about the 
time our boating begins. We used to have races every 
Saturday, but now we have nothing but cruises, and we 
get lots of fun with them, too. But perhaps I am spin- 
ning too much of a yarn. I have forgotten just what I 
wanted to say, anyway, and so I think I'll stop. I sup- 
pose your waste basket is of good size. Hoping so I'll 
say so 'long. Tarpon. 
^T-^- ^r~¥^ raining like fun. I expect it's snowing "in 
New York. 
Some Animal Traits. 
Chillicothe, O., Jan. 3.— Editor Forest and Stream ■ 
Several months ago we were told through the columns of 
J:<orest and Stream that many of the faults and crimes 
of men were not peculiar to the highest order of the ani- 
mal kingdom alone, but were met with in the lower 
ordens, and numerous instances of acts which we call 
crimes were cited as occurring among animals. It 
should not be forgotten that many traits and acts of high- 
est esteem m man are habitually practiced among ani- 
nials, several of which are pointed out in inclosed clip- 
ping from Public Opinion, which is an abstract of Dr 
VVoods Hutchinson's paper in the Contemporary Re- 
vieAV : . 
Although many painful instances are on record of the 
ruthless destruction by animals of the young and females 
ot other species, or even of their own, yet there is I 
think, little question that in the main there runs a sort 
ot unwritten Liav through the animal kingdom, that in- 
fancy, and even childhood, are entitled to certain rights 
ot immunity Avhich must be respected. Indeed, I think 
most exceptions to this rule would be found to depend on 
some curious connection in the animal jnind between 
size and strength, for most of them ..re in the cases of 
small animals, between whom and their young victims 
there is not so much discrepancy in size. In fact the 
balance may be in favor of the victim. Certain of the 
smallest animals, such as stoats, Aveasels, martens etc 
are the worst offenders in this respect, and dogs which 
can be easily urged to chase a lamb or a calf will turn, 
aside froni and refuse to attack blind kittens or very 
young rabbits, ) 
; The attitude of animals tOAvard the young of their own 
species IS, we think, almost uniform, most of us having 
probably seen instances of it I Avas once the possessor 
of a tine English setter, a dog of a most Hibernian de- 
light in the fog o fightin'," and extremely jealous to 
the degree of quarrelsomeness, of every rival that came 
about the place. He would face any dog, and, indeed, had 
thrashed and been recognized as the master of most in 
the neighborhood, but if a young puppy or kitten were 
suddenly presented to him he would turn tail and flee 
m apparently, abject terror. If he came into the house 
and found a puppy (of which there were usually one or 
two in stock m those days) spraAvling upon the hearth- 
rug, he would turn and bolt as if he had seen a snake 
and refuse to return until he thought the coast was clear' 
And several of my hounds appeared to possess this curi- 
ous "pupp3^-dread" in less degree. 
It might also be mentioned in this connection that, as 
a rule, no dog of size or courage will condescend to at- 
tack a smaller or obAaously Aveaker dog, unless the re- 
marks and actions ot the latter become insulting beyond 
endurance. The little dog seems to realize this thor- 
oughly, so that It may almost be taken as a o-eneral rule 
that the_ smaller the dog the more quarrelsome and abu- 
siA^e he is. The attitude of dogs and other domestic ani- 
mals toward the babies or children of the family to which 
they belong, and which they probably regard as adopted 
into their own family circle, is a familiar illustration of 
this same leelmg. Nor is this simply a matter of affec- 
tion for the particular individual; on the contrary its 
purely impersonal and, if we might use the term ' ab- 
stract character is sometimes most curiously shown.' 
This sense of obligation to intefere actively on behalf 
of the younger or weaker members of their species is 
Avidely spread throughout the animal kingdom In at- 
tempting to capture young pigs, which have escaped from 
their pen and are running at large among the herd of 
perhaps filty or sixty full-grown hogs, it is necessary to 
be most circumspect m your method of picking up a 
youngster, for if once his shrill little squeal of distress is 
raised you will have the entire herd down on you at once 
bristles up, tusk^ gnashing, and fierce, barking war cry 
ringing. Cattle have the same curious susceptibility to 
the cry o£ a frightened calf, especially in their half wild 
condition, up on the ranges. To startle suddenly a young 
calf from its nest m the long gress or the sagebrush 
upon the plains is one of the riskiest experiences that can 
tall to your lot 
Among our bird cousins the response to this cry is 
almost equally orompt. By far the most effective means 
of bringing birds about you for the purpose of cultivating 
their acquaintance, after you have settled yourself field 
