Jan. 14, 1911.] 
61 
performance we repeated unanimously once an 
hour; and we were thus enabled to tell the time 
of night without referring to our watches. Fin¬ 
ally sleep became impossible, as well as intoler¬ 
able, and we devoted the remaining hours of 
the darkness to the employment of language 
suitable to our needs, and to counting the stars 
which shone peacefully through apertures of the 
forest roof. At dawn we rose as one man, stiff 
and sore, brushed all the dew of the spruces 
down our backs, concocted a breakfast which 
included salt-pork, and resumed the march. 
Nothing else of note happened until two or 
three days later. We had ensconced ourselves 
as snugly as possible in a log cabin which had 
• formerly been occupied by lumber-jacks. After 
a thorough housecleaning we had moved in. 
Several other decrepit shacks stood in the 
clearing, and one of these, which had been the 
cook-house under the regime of the lumbermen, 
contained, fortunately, a stove. A crystal stream 
flowed through the clearing, and trout could 
be angled for at our very doors. In the river 
we washed our dishes and our stockings. 
Friday afternoon, having done up the camp 
work, we all went blue-berrying. Fritz led the 
way to a berry-patch which he had discovered 
half a mile from camp. The patch covered fifty 
acres of burnt woodland. At once we began 
filling with luscious spheres the tin tomato cans 
we carried. We looked forward, with appetiz¬ 
ing thoughts, to a supper of berries, grateful 
for a variation from our palling diet of salt- 
pork. Trout had already given considerable 
relief, but we had not yet reached the point of 
deciding that it would be safe to throw away 
the numerous pounds of pork that still remained 
to us. 
While we were busily engaged we were sud¬ 
denly perturbed by a crashing among the 
bushes and the sound of a loud “Woof!” Bingo, 
tail lowered, ran to take refuge at the Parson’s 
feet. Then a big black bear hove in sight, but 
to our infinite joy turned quickly in the opposite 
direction and galloped off. When we had some¬ 
what recovered from our Surprise and other 
emotions, Fritz remembered his gun, which 
was leaning against a nearby stump. Fortified 
by the gun, we lingered on the scene and filled 
our receptacles with berries. On our campward 
journey we stopped to drink at a woodland 
spring and detected in the ooze the footprints 
of a huge animal which might have been a bear. 
It is not too much to say that our minds be¬ 
came permeated with thoughts of bear. This 
fact is offered in partial extenuation of the sub¬ 
sequent events. The shadows were long when 
we arrived at the clearing. Fritz arrested our 
attention by pointing toward the bunk-house 
and commanding us to look. “What’s that in 
the window?” he asked. “Doesn’t it look like 
a bear?” 
I can discern what to my mind closely re¬ 
sembles the head of a bear,” said the Professor. 
„ “ II m °ves!” exclaimed Fritz, apprehensively. 
You take the gun—you’re the best marksman 
here, and he handed the gun to me. ' 
“Let’s establish the facts first,” urged the 
Parson, who was always something of a skeptic. 
“Let’s all yell together, at the top of our lungs, 
so that if there is anybody in the house, he 
will know he is called for.” 
We followed the Parson’s excellent advice 
and called lustily, but no response came, save 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
the echoes. The black-and-white object in the 
window, however, moved perceptibly. 
“See him wag his head!” said Fritz; and 
Fritz, being a cautious man, looked about him 
on all sides. Near by stood a rickety shanty 
—only a roof, supported by four posts which 
had long since abandoned all pretense of per¬ 
pendicularity. Fritz climbed up. The Parson 
and the Professor did likewise. I was left on 
the earth with Bingo and the gun. Bingo 
whimpered and cowered underfoot, and the gun 
trembled. 
“Shoot!” cried Fritz from his place of van¬ 
tage on the roof. I aimed and fired. 
You hit him but didn’t kill him,” announced 
Fritz, when the smoke had been wafted away. 
“He’s there yet.” 
I fired again. The object in the window 
scarcely stirred. 
All of a sudden Fritz began to shout hilari¬ 
ously. He flung his arms aloft and began to 
dance a jig on the overburdened roof. The per¬ 
formance was too much for the props. Down 
came the shanty with a crash. The Parson, the 
Professor and Fritz extricated themselves with 
difficulty from the wreck, while I kept one eye 
on the window of the bunk-house. Fritz was 
still hilarious. .“That’s not a bear,” said he. 
_ It s m y old white-toed stockings. T hung them 
in the window to dry.” < 
The next evening we had a treat. Back at 
the general store in Canaan the Parson had 
surreptitiously purchased a dozen cigars, receiv¬ 
ing no change for the half-dollar offered in 
payment. This supply of incense he had kept 
concealed about his person until Saturday even¬ 
ing, when, at the psychological moment, he pro¬ 
duced it. 
_ We were all puffing away bravely at our 
cigars when a knock sounded at the door. The 
Professor ushered in a stranger. Our visitor 
had come up from Canaan to ask the Parson 
if he would preach in the village church the 
next day. And the Parson acquiesced. The 
Canaanite accepted one of the Parson’s cigars 
and proceeded to enjoy it, smoking all but the 
last quarter-inch. 
It puzzled the Parson at first to know how 
his identity as a clergyman had been discovered. 
For myself. I have never seen anything in the 
Parson’s garb or gait which would mark his 
profession. The visitor explained the mystery. 
The storekeeper of Canaan was a’so postmaster. 
His mail-bags had lately been wondrously 
heavy-laden, some of the letters bearing an un¬ 
familiar name to which was prefixed the title 
of Reverend.” The postmaster, knowing that 
they were naturally eager to learn who had 
passed that way, had not withheld the informa¬ 
tion from his townspeople. The cracker-box 
logicians, who frequented the store of evenings, 
had decided, with the aid of great clouds of to¬ 
bacco smoke, that “the fat, jolly man” of the 
party was the minister. This decision had re¬ 
sulted from the storekeeper’s description of the 
secretive manner in which the Parson had made 
his purchase of cigars. 
The little church in Canaan had been aband¬ 
oned several years before, first by the congre¬ 
gation and then by the pastor, and the bell had 
hung silent for a long time. The fact that a 
clergyman was near at hand had been a sug¬ 
gestion, and everybody through the whole coun¬ 
tryside has manifested a willingness, if not an 
ardent desire, to hear preaching again. Our 
guest imparted all these things to us as he 
smoked his cigar, and being urged, he bunked 
in the cabin over night. 
Sunday morning, bright and early, we be¬ 
stirred ourselves. The back-trail to Canaan was 
pleasant with the sunlight which streamed 
down through the tree-tops and with the music 
of the many birds in the leafy branches. The 
Parson preached the plain unvarnished gospel 
to a congregation which consisted of all the 
people of Canaan. His auditors showed their 
approval by sundry nods and winks. At the 
door, following the service, I overheard a re¬ 
mark. Hell of a good sermon, wasn’t it?” 
And some one answered that “It beat the devil.” 
lhe Parson, as we were returning to camp in 
the afternoon, declared that he had never faced 
a congregation so inspiring—he had not felt 
that armor-plate encased the hearts of his 
hearers. 
We stayed 111 the big woods another week. 
We followed many trails in those delightful 
days; we watched the swift and artful deer; We 
learned the wily ways of the speckled trout. 
We climbed hills and mountains. Our muscles 
hardened, and the blood rollicked through our 
veins. Of evenings we reveled in great free- 
dom of talk and badinage, adding to our souls 
the fine experience of social relaxation. Since 
then we have gone together on similar ex¬ 
peditions. 
Last Christmas the Professor sent me a book. 
On the fly-leaf he had written: 
“One sometimes gets to thinking-especially 
by an open fire-place—that the hard miles and 
crooked trails have wrought in him more than 
sinew, and that, though he went forth for meat 
and muscle, the hills have bestowed on him in 
this subtle something a richer legacy.” 
Raymond G. Fuller. 
Anglers Waiting. 
New Orleans, La., Jan. y.-Editor Forest and 
Stream: The fishermen are waiting for the 
cold weather to abate before attempting to land 
any of the finny tribe. It is expected that balmv 
days will come soon and then the rod men wiil 
get busy. A number of the members of the 
clubs on the Louisville and Nashville road and 
gul. coast will take advantage of the first favor¬ 
able Saturdays and Sundays. It is expected that 
speckled trout will be biting well very soon. 
F. G. G. 
The Cheerful Catfish. 
Yon ei l:n e w 8 t tS de moon is full. 
yasyswjjM? yo “ 
A grub 11 do or a H’l fat meat, 
rer all he wants is supp’n’ to eat, 
-En he am t no han’ to wait. 
Ym, f- in t ?°. troub,e ’bout luck wid him, 
1 ou kin tie yo line to a swinging limb, 
^ m i w £ e ? you £ oes to Iook 
1 ou 11 fin dat limb a-dodgin’ ’roun’ 
En a catfish on yo’ hook. 
But I choose to take a pole in mine 
it gl £ 1 s P lotch . er bright moonshine 
En fish dar wid my han’; 
I knows den when 'e hits his lick 
ir e s 7 i ? 1 * ers t . de h°°k; you needn’t be quick). 
En I lets him show his man. 
When I slings him out on de good dry grass 
H ?r com P. ,a >n. but he’s full er sass. 
He kicks a little while, 
Den lays dar, wid a pleasing look. 
Ln while I’s rippin’ out de hook 
He takes it wid a smile. 
—Charlotte Observer. 
