For He and I Are Together Again 
Y OU will scoff when I tell you that my guns talk to me. You will disbelieve and it may be you will even 
laugh when I tell you that my rod whispers soothingly and that I listen and understand every whisper 
too. And you will think queer thoughts of me when I tell you that my gun feels the same things I feel 
and thinks thoughts that are mine. 
Well then, scoff! Laugh if you must! 
Is it because to you, your gun is a cold, cruel barrel of steel and your rod an empty, hollow strip of bamboo? 
Then you can never hear the song of your gun nor of mine. To hear them and to understand, you must believe. 
You must believe that it has soul and hopes and dreams and memories. 
To-night my guns and my rods are talking again. We are alone. 
Outside the wind is racing and the snow is high. And through the window in my room creeps the clear 
light of the winter moon. But to-night I am not thinking of beast or fish. My thoughts are with him who 
first taught me the joy of these. “My guns and my rods . . . my lures and my shells.” All of these seem to 
be thinking of him, too. 
And now it is my gun that is speaking. Yes, I hear it very plainly. Let the scoffers scoff! I tell you my gun 
is talking! And if you listen you will hear, too, and you will understand. 
Listen! 
“I remember the first day too. You were but a lad and he was strong and big. And his face was tan with 
the great healthy sun under which he lived and roamed so much. I remember even long before he talked to 
you about it. It was one day out in the fields when he and I and the dogs were alone. First he was musing to 
himself and then he said to me: ‘Soon, pretty soon, old pal, the boy will be ready and we will take him. We 
will teach him rabbits first. We will march him through these woods and on that day you must do your best.’ 
“I remember how he stroked the steel in my barrel and how tightly he held me to his breast. How warm 
I was and how I listened to the quiet beat of his heart. ‘I am going to give you to him because I love you both,’ 
he said, ‘and because I know you will take good care of him.’ ” 
Then there was a pause. The old gun seemed to be musing. But soon he sopke again. 
“And I remember that night when we returned and he Nas cleaning me, just as he always did. He called 
you in. And I remember that he said, ‘My boy, here is one of my best friends. Together we have spent days 
and days of joy and happiness. I am going to give him to you because he will take care of you. To-morrow 
you’re coming hunting. To-morrow we will try and get you your first rabbit.’ 
“And how your eyes sparkled. I remember how you were thrilled. Even Old Buster, seated in the corner, 
winked smilingly and knowingly, saying ‘Count on me. I’ll do my share too.’ I’m sure he understood and 
I remember your father and the slight choking that he felt in his throat when he said these things to you. 
“You sat and toyed with me and played with me, until even after your bedtime. And how the next day came. 
It was cold, but you were out of bed early and you were excited and you gulped your coffee . . . and held 
me tightly to your breast and we marched out. I remember how you tramped along for a mile and more, and 
then came the 'first call of the dogs as they chased the first rabbit of that morning throught the hills. He told 
you where to stand. He said the rabbit would run right by that path. He knew ! And it did! And you were 
shaking and your lips were tight, and then suddenly you raised me and you pointed me. You wavered a bit, 
but then you fixed me true and steady and I answered for you. I never tried so hard before and the shot was 
true. 
“And I remember how you rushed over to him and how you embraced each other. Yes, I can see you now 
as you kissed him and how lie embraced you and then he turned away, there was a tear in his eye. A hat a 
wonderful moment! What a supreme moment it must have been for him! 
“Then you grasped your first rabbit. And you shook and laughed and shouted and held him up high for 
us all to see.” ; 
The old gun was quiet once more. It was tired. It had spoken. And I had listened tand I thought about 
him and how much he meant to me. And I wondered about the thrill . . . about the tenseness of it all. Then 
there came back to me in rapid procession the many times we had gone together . . . rabbits, quail, partridge, 
ducks, and then the great day and the first deer! The moments we had together! The glorious sunsets ! The 
joy and the companionship! What a glorious thing it was. 
Then there was a noise in my cabinet and out from the throng of things marched my rod and he spoke 
to me. And just like the gun, he talked. It was his rod too, before he gave it to me. And he gave it to me 
because he loved it and because he knew that it would take good care of me. 
Then there came happy memories of fishing trips, first of perch and sunnies in the morning stillness of the 
lake nearby, then there came the longer trips, the pickerel, and the bass and the thrill of bronzed fighters all 
rushed back to me. 
loyous moments! Glorious moments! Thrills! Victories! Defeats! Even grief! Oh! The happiness of 
it all, and intermingled with these, the great and golden joy of that beautiful companionship. 
And now I’m alone again. No, not alone, for he is with me once more and we are together again . ._ . 
together again. ... We are in the forest and we are on the stream. Together once more we are shooting 
and we are fishing and we are lunching beside a rippling stream, and overhead is the weird call of the blue 
jay scolding us. 
He is smiling again. I feel his hand. It is soft, and big as it always was and it is warm. 
To-night he and I are together once more and to-night I am going to tell him how much these things have 
meant to me, how I live with them and how he lives with me. 
Outside the wind is still speeding faster and faster. The faint flickering of the moon steals in through 
the window. . . . 
The gun is quiet . . . the rod is quiet ... all of the. lures-have gone to sleep . . . but he and I are together 
once more. ... - 
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