FOREST AND STREAM. 







Daddie and I.—III. 
“Want to shoot some snipes, do yer? Well, 
hit till I get my light in an’ I'll set yer acrost 
| the bar an’ mebbe you kin see some—if yer 

nit long enough, and set right still. Did yer 
it say you might?” 
The speaker was old man Gander, “Uncle 
m’”’ as most every one called him, ‘partly from 
is initials and partly from his occupation as 
/hthouse keeper or tender for the Government. 
j2 was just starting out in his flatboat to get 
5 lantern off the end of the Government dike 
here it had stood all night, and for many nights 
, many years, to warn the river pilots toward 
2 proper channel, just here, by reason of the 
\ighty Four-Mile Bar, a tortuous, dangerous 
e at best. He was the oldest keeper, both in 
ars and point of service, of any on the river, 
id consequently a privileged character as well; 
it he never abused the confidence of his super- 
,s, and rain or shine, cold weather or warm, 
jen water or river full of floating ice, sunset 
\vays saw the old man’s light put out, and day- 
jeak never failed to have it taken in. Never 
jt once, when a rapidly rising river forced a 
ige floating tree against the post and carried 
ray the lantern, was Gander’s light known to 
extinguished between sunset and dawn; so 
it it was always said that while the old man 
led, Four-Mile Light never failed. 
(it was just fairly daylight, a raw and foggy, 
jnost frosty morning in late October, and Uncle 
|mmy’s seventy-odd years grumbled at the no 
iger easy task, for the old flat pulled heavily 
ough the deadwater back of the dike, and at 
(2 end of the halfway journey was the tall, 
‘tite post with the slender ladder its full height, 
d the little bird-box of a lantern-cubby at its 
#—none too easily accessible for even a younger 

H 
n. 
‘Won’t you let me row you over, Uncle 
mmy, and take the light in for you?” earnestly 
juired the boy he was talking to, a little fel- 
Jv, son of a near neighbor down the pike. The 
juthful volunteer looked unequal to the task, 
mere size counted for anything. He was quite 
jang and small even for his age. He carried 
; army musket, a bottle of powder and another 
| shot. His feet were encased in shoes that 
re more hole than leather—to let the water 
{:, he naively explained. 
Wiis aged companion smiled, not unkindly, at 
friendly offer, and replied: 
{Do you think yer could?” 
(‘Do I think so? Well, I should say!” said 
| eager youngster, smiling in his turn. “Course 
Dac. Just watch me.” 
fe jumped into the boat, dropped the heavy 
-s between the thole-pins, and, throwing all 
| strength proudly into a deft stroke forward 
yh one and backward with the other oar, 
jirled her about end for end, then backed her 
jiinst the sloping bank, and the old man, smil- 
hearty approval, stepped. none too lightly 
pard. With long, steady strokes, neatly 
|thering his oars on the return stroke, the boy 
jved quietly but quickly over to the dike, 
4pped ashore, and throwing a couple of half- 
ches about a timber head with the boat’s 
inter, he climbed nimbly up the post ladder 
the light. Arriving at the top he turned 
the light, brought .the lantern down and 
yided it to his companion without a word. 
ye old man looked his thanks, and then busied 
jiself for a few minutes in cleaning, filling and 
{-ming his lantern so-as to have all ready 
,4e more for the evening’s steady vigil. This 
lapleted, he remarked to the expectant young- 
i 
Now, if you'll row her back, I'll set you off 



|! 

j that big sycamore stump out there in the 
sj tdle of that mudflat. It’s seven foot acrost 
| holler inside. Get inside an’ it'll make a 


bully blind, ’cause the snipes fly by there all the 
time.” 
In this locality, be it explained, “snipes’’ meant 
anything in the plover line from curlew to sand- 
piper, and was only one of many local nick- 
names for them all. Whether robin snipe, ringed 
plover, killdeer or yellowlegs, all or any were 
here indiscriminately known as snipes, plum- 
mers, killdees, sand-fleas, and many others long 
since forgotten. 
Arriving at the designated spot the boy sur- 
rendered the oars, picked up his ancient weapon 
and his ammunition, and smiling at the old man’s 
kindly admonition to beware of quicksands and 
not to get himself mired in the fathomless mud, 
he sprang lightly ashore and was soon safely, 
though damply, ensconced in the natural blind, 
while Uncle Sam rowed slowly back to the dike 
to await further developments, chuckling and 
crooning to himself: 
“If he kin shoot like he kin row a boat he'll 
certain get some snipes.” 
Then out of the ragged fog far down the river 
came the twittering peep, peep, peep of the com- 
ing snipe. The boy heard it, but he gave no 
sign. Crouching low there in the slime of the 
mud bar, hiding close within the circular stump, 
the light of chase beginning to sparkle in his 
eyes, he calmly awaited their flight. Soon the 
cries came nearer, and ere long his keen eyes 
made out a wisp of small grayish-brown and 
white birds trailing swiftly along the uneven 
margin of the stream, closely following its every 
curve and point, and rapidly increasing in size 
as they drew nearer his retreat. Now they were 
within a hundred yards of it and coming straight 
for it. On they came, straight as an arrow now, 
and never deviating from their course across the 
bar, until it seemed that if nothing swerved them 
from their line of flight, they would pass about 
the boy’s ears. 
Just at this moment old man Gander, who no 
doubt thought the boy didn’t see the birds, could 
contain himself no longer, and leaping to his 
feet and waving his arms frantically, he yelled 
at the top of his voice: 
“There they go, Johnnie; 
fleas !” 
The frightened ring-necks wheeled sharply to 
the left, turning over on their sides, after the 
habit of their kind, and displaying a dazzling 
whirl of snowy plumage, just as the watchful 
boy sprang to his feet and fired a load of small 
shot into the well-bunched birds forty yards 
away. As the smoke from the charge of black 
powder cleared the whole center of the living 
target fell away and the remnant fled up the bar, 
leaving their dead and wounded fellows stretched 
and still dropping along for a distance of nearly 
a hundred yards in their wake. 
“That's the time you got ’em all right, sonny! 
Gosh, it’s rainin’ snipes!”’ said the delighted old 
soak them sand- 
man as he hastened down the bank to view the 
count. The boy sped after the wounded first 
reaching all but one which was fluttering some 
distance out in the water. Nothing daunted by 
the cold water, however, the plucky boy hastily 
kicked off his leaky shoes, peeled his ragged 
clothes, and waded out after the bird. The water 
rapidly deepened until it rose to his armpits and 
then to his chin, but still he went on, swimming 
now, and gaining on the bird, while the excited 
old man begged and implored him to return, but 
in vain, as the determined youngster paid not 
the least attention to anything else until he 
finally canght the wounded bird and a merciful 
twist of its neck put it out of its pain. Then 


turnine. he saw that he was nearer to the dike 
than the shore, and holding one foot of his 
quarry between his teeth he swam slowly out 
toward where the angry old keeper stood swear- 
ing and fuming on the edge of the dike. 
“What in blazes did yer mean, runnin’ out in 
that there mud an’ quicksan’ an’ swimimuiin’ aroun’ 

in that there deadwater hole, riskin’ yer life 
every minit, an’ all fer a pesky wurthless snipe! 
How the devil do you reckon I’d ever faced yer 
Pa if you’d a got drownded? I wouldn’t a done 
it for a ten dollar bill, and I need it some, too. 
Come on out o’ that, now; water’s too col’ fer 
swimmin. Come on, now, an’ I’ll row back to 
shore. How many’d yer git?” 
The abashed swimmer climbed shiveringly into 
the boat and the half-angry, half-pleased Uncle 
Sam took up his oars and rowed briskly back to 
shore. Midway over he stopped once again to 
inquire : 
“How many’d yer git? . What’d yer do it 
39) F ‘ hrs 
fer: And then, quietly but determinedly, the 
apparent misdoer answered him: 
“Because Daddie always told me never to let 
a wounded animal get away, as it was sure to 
die a lingering, miserable death, and it was far 
better to put it out of its misery at once, and of 
course I just had to do it, even if there was a 
little risk.’ 
“Well, mebbe you're right,” said the old man, 
half-heartedly. “I ain’t sure but what you are; 
but let’s go over an’ get your snipes an’ see how 
many yer got. My sakes, but there was a 
of them fell when yer shot!” 
Rowing back the boy gathered up his birds, 
and while his companion fished out a piece of 
line to string them on, the boy proudly 
nounced the returns: ; 
“Thirteen, all told. 
was about fifty!” 
“Well, now, that’s almighty good, anyhow. I 
call that pretty lucky shootin’, I do, an’ I don’t 
take no stock in thirteen bein’ unlucky.” 
“But it was, after all—for the birds!” was the 
little fellow’s rejoinder. 
JouN S. 
slew 
an- 
Pshaw, I thought there 
ROEBUCK, Jr. 

Ivy Poison. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The following may prove of interest to your 
readers, both those who keep dogs and those 
who do not: 
Three or four years ago I read in a New 
York daily that during 
carried out with regard 
cal men appointed by 
experiments being then 
to yellow fever by medi- 
y the Government, it had 
been found that while naphthaline was of no 
use as regarded yellow fever, it was a perfect 
remedy for mosquito bites. 
This letter was written and signed by one of 
the medical officers, and I therefore thought it 
worthy of attention, especially as I as well as 
ether members of my family suffered severely 
from the effects of mosquito bites. No direc- 
tions were given as to how it should be applied, 
so I dissolved some in the first spirits that came 
to hand—wood alcohol—and tried it. The in- 
stantaneous effect was very noticeable, and from 
that day until the present time I have made a 
practice of keeping a good sized bottle full of 
a saturated solution of naphthaline where every 
member of the family could have access to it. 
Not only does it allay the inflammation, but un- 
doubtedly it in some way prevents the next mos- 
quito from getting in as effective work: that is 
to say, renders the system less liable to be acted 
on by the poison left by subsequent bites. 
I also found that the more one scratched <ue 
inflamed spot immediately before or during the 
anplication the greater and more lasting the 
effect, while the wounds caused by scratching 
healed so immediately that no marks showed 
next day. 
Finding this so beneficial as regards mosquito 
bites, and having for several years past been 
troubled each spring with extreme _ irritation 
caused by poison ivy, I this year tried the effect 
of first scratching the affected part well and 
then rubbing in a good dose of naphthaline. and 
although I had tried every remedy in previous 


