numbers as literally blackened the sky. Query; Is the 
English sparrow going ultimately to possess the land, 
to the exclusion of all the species of smaller birds, at 
least? Reaching the Bay, 1 was struck with the dreary 
prospect. To the left, and in front, far as the eye could 
reach, brackish water and sere marsliy plains, wnh soinc 
tall factory chimneys, like huge sentinels, on the sky 
line. To the right, little bayous, with here and there a 
solitary hut or frame shanty, harmonizing with its mel- 
ancholy surroundings. In the more open part of th^; 
waters a fisherman was rowing his boat, a mere black 
smudge upon the canvas, so to speak. Truly, a dreary 
prospect, I mused; but what a transformation a few 
months will make here! These waters will gleam like 
silver, and these plains w-ill wave with green rushes, 
where the marsh wren will thrill his ecstatic lay, all day 
long. To the immediate right of where I stood is a 
little fishing village, very much the same to-day, I 
fancy, as it was a hundred years ago, when Van and 
Hans mended their nets there, or lounged and smoked 
their pipes. As I had explored it before, I did not visit 
it this time, but I said to myself, "If I were an artist in 
search of something genuinely picturesque, hither should 
1 come with brush and palette and canvas early and 
often — in the fine weather, that is. 
Retracing my steps, I hid my eyes as I passed the 
hideous desecration of the dump, and coming once more 
among the fallow lands, I saw a beautiful sight— a level 
ray of sunlight breaking through the leaden clouds di- 
rectly above the horizon, and gilding all the brown, up- 
turned earth. It was like a promise of spring — of coming 
fruition. As soon as the sun sank, night began to gather 
apace. A profounder hush than ever fell upon the scene, 
the chiar-oscuro became more marked, and gradually all 
faded itito darkness. 
Back at the King's Highway, being a little tired after 
my walk, the temptation to visit Puckhaber, the jolly 
inn-keeper, was irresistible; 
"Hello, Puck! How you vas?" 
"Ah, ha! Vie gehts, mein freund? Velcome, velcome." 
F. MOONAN. 
Sam's Boy. — XV. 
The Fitst Fox Hunt. 
It was November, and young Drive had taken to the 
serious duties of life with a conviction that there was 
more satisfaction in pleasant and profitable duties than 
in mischievous pranks. If he robbed a hen's nest or 
worried a cat, or, worst of all, gave the sheep a frightened 
scamper through the pasture, the best he got from it was 
a brief tickle of the palate, and the wild joy of a for- 
bidden prank; the most and longest enduring, a chas- 
tisement that made his muscles quiver. If he hunted 
diligently, even though he ran counter in the excess 
of his zeal, he was set right and praised for his good 
work, and it was a delight to him to hear the music of 
his own voice coming back in the echoes, and greatest 
joy of all, when the boom of the gun came to his ears 
and he made short cuts along the track to find a d.ea& 
fox lying at his master's feet reeking that ecstatic odor 
he had followed so many hours through swamp and over 
ledge, now hot, now cold and faint. Sam was quite sat- 
isfied that judicious training and experience only were 
needed to make the young dog a worthy successor to 
his renowned progenitor. 
Having killed four foxes before Drive, and believing 
Sammy to have had experience enough to give a reason- 
able chande of escaping fox-ague, he thrilled the boy's 
heart with the announcement one evening that he was to 
start with him bright and early in the morning on a fox 
hunt. The honor of promotion to the rank and dignity 
of a real fox hunter was almost toe great for him to 
carry. He ptit on mighty airs when Sis asked him to 
bring her home a nice partridge tail next day for a 
fan and some spruce cones for a work-box, and said: 
"We don't waste fox charges on pa'tridges, nor go 
poking 'raound arter such nonsense when we're a-fox 
hunting. We hafter 'tend right tu business!" 
He went into the shop, where there happened to be no 
visitors, and asked Uncle Lisha if his sandstone would 
put a good edge on a knife to skin a fox. 
"Ruther rank, I guess," the old man replied, and 
added with a twinkle of the eyes that was not entirely 
pleasant to Samrny, "but I shouldn't wonder if 'twould 
answer your turn." 
But Sammy, pretending to ignore the implied doubt, 
asked: "Say, Uncle Lisher, haow du you skin a fox?" 
"Wal, gen'ally, the fust thing' is tu git it killed," and 
then seeing that this light tone was hurting his little 
friend. Uncle Lisha put on a sober face and went on. 
"Wal, Bub, I never hed no gre't exper'ence; I was iyther 
a not gettin' shots or a-missin' on 'em, so't when I killed 
a fox 'twas sech a job tu skin him 'at I useter wish I 
could eyther kill enough tu larn haow or nary a one. 
Your father'll skin one quicker 'n you can git ofif a wet 
shirt. You want tu rip 'em from the heels o' one hind 
foot tu t'other, then skin 'em aout, an' the tail, an' then 
it's nothin' but strippin' till you git tu the forelaigs an' 
the head. Then you got tu ta' keer, sicinnin' the eyes 
an' maouth an' cuttin' of¥ the ears. But don't you worry. 
Mebby you won't be bothered no gre't." 
Sammy listened attentively, while he sharoened his 
knife to a feather-edge, then shut it with a defiant click, 
thinking how he would disappoint the doubters and 
marched away to bed. To bed, but not to sleep, for often 
he raised his head to listen if the kitchen stove were 
making prophecy of a windy morning, or to look out 
the dormer window to see if a rain cloud was beginning 
to quench the innumerable twinkling lamps of the sky. 
But they shone brightly when the last embers of the fire 
snapped out, and the household sounds dropped one 
by one into the silence of the night, till only the regular 
long-drawn blasts of Uncle Lisha's trumpet and the 
scampering of the mice remained of them, and in the 
wide outer world only the quavering voice of a solitary 
little owl was heard. 
The next sound he heard was his father's footsteps on 
the steep stairs and his voice guardedly calling him to 
get up. Opening his sleepy eves, he saw the great patch 
of candle^lf-srht widening and brightenenig on the sloping 
ceiling. Then he knew it was the morning of the much- 
Wished-for day come too -*soon, and wondered as he 
Femenib<«rsil laat Jiight'g impatience iot its coitiittg, hovi 
it couM-i bt so. 
The stove was roaring and crackling merrily, diffusing 
a comforting warmth, and out of the oven doors came 
the delicate aroma of baking potatoes. It looked very 
funny to the boy, as he sat watchuig his father through 
sleepy eyes, to see him getting breakfast, quite handily 
for a man, yet not with the adroitness of a woman, tip- 
toeing between stove and table, and making many jour- 
neys to cupboard and pantry for things forgotten, and 
Drive getting often under foot in the double excitement 
of prospectice early breakfast and a day's hunting. It 
was odd for Sammy to be eating breakfast with no one 
but his father — a good breakfast, but with a different 
savor from those of his mother's getting, and it was 
strange to be out of doors at this unwonted hour, with 
everything unfamiliar in the dim light, the fields all 
white with hoar frost, the woods a gray blurr, the 
neighbors' houses vague blots in the landscape, and with 
their smokeless chimneys apparently as lifeless as the 
dun cones of haystacks. It was such a silent world, too, 
they were in the midst of, voiceless but for crowing of 
cocks challenging and answering from farmstead to 
farmstead, the far-off barking of a house dog, and the 
great hammer of the sleepless forge shaking the air with 
its muffled throb. 
It was as if the man and boy and hound had the world 
to themselves. Sammy's legs flew fast to keep up with 
his father's long, swinging stride, while the hound, now 
seen, now only heard rustling through the crisp grass, 
quartered the ground before them, showing form and 
color more as daylight grew, and the little stars faded out 
and the planets paled in the brightening sky. Now he 
suddenly checked his loping gallop, sniffed the frosty 
grass eagerly and whippered his suppressed ecstacy until 
at last it burst forth in a long-drawn melodious chal- 
lenge that presently came back as clear and sweet, in 
fainter repetition, from every hill and woodside. 
It struck an answering chord in the boy's soul that 
choked him and brought tears to his eyes. He was more 
ashamed of this emotipn than he would have been could 
he have known to what a degree the tall, bearded man 
shared it. 
The bugle notes came faster, as Drive worked the trail 
foot by foot steadily, but, to Sam's surprise, away from 
the nearest woodland. 
"Sure you're right, be ye, dawg?" he said, following 
the trail with his eye far into the field, where it seamed 
the silver sward and back to where it crossed the muddy 
swale, and found, as he expected, an imprint of the fox's 
pad with the nail marks pointing toward the nearest 
cover. He called the hound to it, pointed it out and in- 
dicated the right direction with a wave of the hand. 
Drive dibbled it an instant with his nose, looked as 
long in the direction his master pointed, then up into his 
face, asking as plainly with soft brown eyes as words 
could have spoken, "Du you mean it or be you foolin^?" 
"It's all right, boy; pick up an' go ahead!" said Sam, 
giving the black and tan head an endearing and admiring 
;pat, and the dog went joyfully onward with an assured 
confident note in his mellow bugle blasts. 
"Oh, I tell ye, Bub, he's a-goin' tu make jest as good 
a haoun' as ever ntn!" cried Sam. "He's got sense. 
Naow, pull foot lively, for I cal'late he'll hev' up his fox 
'baout's soon as he strikes Joel's woods." 
They hurried on to a runway, where Sam placed his 
boy, and giving hitn a few brief instructions, went on to 
another. The valley was well aroused now from its 
sleepy silence; every. house dog within a mile joined his 
querulous voice and its score of echoes to the general 
clamor; a cowboy began shouting lustily to his herd; 
a cowbell jangled in response, and a bull bellowed sud- 
den protest; a flock of frightened sheep bleated in a 
harsh, discordant tremolo; a charcoal wagon began its 
empty, rumbling journey to the pits, and when half a 
dozen red squirrels set up a snickering and jeering, and 
a flock of jays began squalling, it seemed to Sammy as 
if there was a general conspiracy of noises to drown the 
only melodious voice among them. The challenge of 
the hound grew faint; he could scarcely make out in 
what direction; then it was quite lost, then after a while 
came faintly into hearing, or was it the clang of the 
cowbell or the tinkle of the brook? No, it was Drive's 
own clear note, unmistakable, now drawing near, nearer, 
right on toward Sammy's runway. What if he should 
come, and the heart beating ready to choke him, and 
hand shaking like a poplar leaf? 
He knew he must miss the fox if he got a shot, and 
wished the animal might sheer off just out of range and 
save him from this disgrace. Now he heard the rustle of 
the leaves under reynard's soft pads nearer and nearer, ' 
now halting an instant to listen, now coming on again 
as Drive's bugle notes broke forth afresh. Then there 
was a flash of tawny red against the dull brown leaves. 
Then appearing so suddenly that it seemed to materialize 
from thin air, a ruddy form stood like a statute on a gray 
rock before him, looking backward with pricked ears 
toward the oncoming hound. Sammy saw only that, nor 
thought where his gun pointed, nor how the muzzle 
wavered; there was no missing such a mark. 
He pulled the trigger desperately, the form vanished 
behind the rock, and vanished utterly, for when he ran 
to it and peered over it there was nothing there but dead 
brown leaves and a low tangle of hucldeberry bushes. 
The boy's heart sank, leaving a sickening void in its 
place, and the conviction forced itself upon him that he 
had missed so fair a mark, and could find no excuse for 
having done so. Drive came to him. sniffed the bare 
rock and bushes eagerly; then wuth a look of inquiry, dis- 
appointment and reproach in his young master's face, 
puzzled an instant over the broken trail, and went on 
with no abatement of zeal. 
Sammy searched the ground, the rocks and the trees 
for a tuft of fur, or a drop of blood or a shot mark 
without success, and then he heard his father coming, 
and prepared to face the hardest trial of all. 
"Wal, Sammy, boy. didn't quite fetch him that time, 
eh?" his father asked, breathing hard from rapid walk- 
ing, and wearing the best-natured of smiles, yet look- 
ing as if a laugh might be lurking behind it. 
"No. not quite, I guess," Sammy answered, turning 
hot and cold under a continual blush. "An' he was stan'- 
in' right on this 'ere rock, an' I p'inted right straight at 
him, an' it didn't seem as if I could miss him!" 
"Yes, I know," his father said. "You can't aravs kill 
'em— the' don't nobody. Mebby yoUf giin hung hte 
half a jiffy, an' mebby you aimed at the hul fox. ].>!<1 
ye, think?" 
Sammy did not think the gun had hang fire, nor could 
he recall that he had held on any particular part of the 
great red mark, so big that it seemed impossible for a 
charge of shot to miss. 
'T thought like 'nough," his father said, "Older hands 
'an you be makes that mistake. I hev', more'n oncte 
Naow, next chance you git you aim at the critter's head 
or his heart. This time, seein' 'at he was side on, you'd 
ortu p'inted jest behind his fore-shoulder." 
"Du you think I didn't tech him, daddy?" 
"Couldn't say sart'in, but you made the fur fly in a 
bunch as fast as four spry feet could carry it." 
He did not tell him that some tall branches of witch- 
hazel were lopped by fresh jagged cuts, while the boy's 
heart was full of gratitude that he could not express to 
his kind censor. 
"He's a young fox, for he hain't scairt oft" the hill for 
once shootin' at," Sam said, after hstening to Drive's 
regular baying as the fox circled before him. "Mebby 
we'll git another crack at him." 
He led the way to the southern ettd of the hill, and 
placing the boy on a runway, chose another near by for 
himself. Sammy told himself over and over again that 
he hoped the game would give his runway a wide berth, 
yet stood motionless as a statue, with his carefully loaded 
gun at a ready, and craned his neck for a first glimpse 
of the fox. 
Now a red squirrel flashing along a fallen trunk set his 
heart into a wild flutter, and again the noisy scurry of a 
chipmunk in the dry leaves. A boisterous mob of jays 
was coming toward him by short flights, now so near 
that he caught the glint of blue plumage through the 
haze of branches, and now he heard Drive crashing 
through dry brush and was sure he heard lighter footfalls 
all coming steadily toward him. 
He put the gun to his shoulder, his cheek almost 
touching the stock. Then the jays all at once veered 
off at a right angle, and the light rustle of the leaves 
was heard going in the same direction as Drive's crash- 
ing progress and eager, melodious challenge. So they 
receded for a minute or more, and then came the roar ' 
of Sam's gun, the frightened jays flew squalling out of 
hearing, the hound ceased his music, and a sudden silence 
succeeded. 
The smoke of Sam's gun was still drifting upward and 
among the branches, and dissolving in the hazy air, ' 
when his boy came to where he stood looking marvel- 
ously cool for one who had just performed so great a 
feat. And there lay the fox, his sleek fur frowsy from 
the shaking that had been the reward of the hound, who 
was lying hard by, diligently licking his chase-worn feet. 
Sam having reloaded his gun, set it against a tree, and 
proceeded to initiate his son into the art and mystery of 
skinning a fpX, - _ ^ 
"It's a good thing tu I'arn tu du ^fore you've killed 
one," he said. 
Sammy wr^s proud to play a part in it by pulling 
manfully at the legs during the operation of stripping. 
When the head; was reached it gave proof in the skull, 
broken and punctured by several BB shot, that Sam 
practiced his preaching, and aimed at a particular part. 
"Not ezactly, nuther," he explained to the boy, "for I 
p'inted a leetle ahead of his nose, 'cause he was jest a 
hyperin'. Guess he got your wind." 
He turned the handsome pelt fur-side out, rolled it up ■- 
and thrust it in his coat pocket, leaving the brush hang- 
ing conspicuously out, a bit of vanity of which most 
fox hunters are guilty, and Sammy trudged on that side, 
gloating over the trophy with curious eyes, and wishing 
most fervently that he were entitled to wear it. So, with 
Drive as eager as ever for a fresh trail, they ranged the. 
woods till noon without finding any, and then took their ' 
w-ay homeward. 
Sammy felt free now to shoot the head off a partridge 
that flushed by the hound, alighted in a tree before them, 
and also to gather a pocketful of the prettiest cones for 
the little sister. 
Sammy stretched himself at full length on the pile of 
leather in the shop and rested his tired legs while he,- 
made open confession of his blunders to Uncle Lisha. 
"Daddy says I didn't aim nowhere, an' I s'pose it's so. 
It don't seem as if a feller could miss such a great big. 
mark if he shot anywhere." 
"But you faound aout you could," said the old man; 
unable to forego a little good-natured banter. "An', 
sharpened up your knife for nothin'l" 
"But the aidge '11 keep till I go again, an' I'll git one 
yet, you see if I don't!" said the boy, with more con- 
fidence than he felt. 
When Antoine came in with other frequenters of the 
place, he, too, had heard by some remarkable means of 
Sammy's misadventure, and scoffed loudly at it. 
"Ho! Che, boy, what for de reason if you could pull 
you gawn hard 'nough for keel un loupcervier, you can' 
pull him hard 'nough for keel de fox, hem? Ah'll be- 
lieved you can' never , keel somet'ing, honly dat loup- 
cervier, an' dat was jes' happen. You bes' was give me 
you gawn, den he keel somet'ing ev'ry tarn!" 
"'Pears as if I remembered me an' you shootin' int* * 
the thick o' a big flock o' ducks daown t' the East 
Slang," said Sard, coming to the boy's relief. "An' nary 
one on us cut a feather. If growed-up men can miss 
a flock as big as a boss shed, we hedn't ortu be tew 
rough on a boy's missin' his fust fox." 
Sammy nestled beside his father, with his head upon his 
knee, and Antoine, in great confusion, became deeply 
absorbed in cleaning his pipe. 
"You see if that 'ere fox had b'en a foot more one way 
or t'other an' Bub hed p'inted two inches forward or 
back, he'd 'a' got the critter," said Joe. 
Rowland E. Robinson, 
[to be continued.] 
A twelve-year-old son of T. J. Loflus, of Castella, Cal., has a gun 
and he is not afraid to use it on bears. The lad was out in the 
mountains with his .22cal. rifle and a little dog. His dog began 
barking at a furious rate, and the hoy discovei-ed a black bear 
sitting against a tree a few yards away. The boy fired, hitting th 
brute. The latter started running down the mountain, the \>oy 
following and firing. After half a mile of this the bear dropped 
dead. The boy took his father to the spot. Eleven bullets nad 
struck the bear, and one had passed through his heart. The boy 
has become the hero of Castella, and takes great pride in exhibiting 
his trophy of bear skin. 
