“Oho, that’s how the land lays. Well, John junior, you can have your choice, too. You may go right on with your gun, but you know the length and weight of that strap at home. Now, will you help me? or go after rabbits?”
The boy grinned pleasantly, and replied, “If you had said I couldn’t go, I wouldn’t; but if it’s choosin’ between shootin’ rabbits and a strappin’ afterward—come along, Merton.”
“Well, go along then,” chuckled his father; “you’ve made your bargain square, and I’ll keep my part of it.”
“Oh, hang the rabbits! You shan’t have any strapping on my account,” cried Merton; and he carried his gun resolutely to his room and locked the door on it.
John junior quietly went to the old barn, and hid his gun.
“Guess I’ll go with you, pa,” he said, joining us.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Jones. “It was a good bargain to back out of. Come now, let’s all be off as quick as we can. Neighbor Rollins down the road will join us as we go along.”
“Merton,” I said, “see if there isn’t a barrel of apples in the cellar. If you find one, you can fill your pockets.”
He soon returned with bulging pockets and a smiling face, feeling that such virtue as he had shown had soon brought reward. My wife said that while we were gone she and the children would explore the house and plan how to arrange everything. We started in good spirits.
“Here’s where you thought you was cast away last night,” Mr. Jones remarked, as we passed out of the lane.
The contrast made by a few short hours was indeed wonderful. Then, in dense obscurity, a tempest had howled and shrieked about us; now, in the unclouded sunshine, a gemmed and sparkling world revealed beauty everywhere.
For a long distance our sleighs made the first tracks, and it seemed almost a pity to sully the purity of the white, drift-covered road.
“What a lot of mud’s hid under this snow!” was John Jones’s prose over the opening vistas. “What’s more, it will show itself before night. We can beat all creation at mud in Maizeville, when once we set about it.”
Merton laughed, and munched his apples, but I saw that he was impressed by winter scenery such as he had never looked upon before. Soon, however, he and John junior were deep in the game question, and I noted that the latter kept a sharp lookout along the roadside. Before long, while passing a thicket, he shouted, “There’s tracks,” and floundered out into the snow, Merton following.
“Oh, come back,” growled his father.
“Let the boys have a few moments,” I said. “They gave up this morning about as well as you could expect of boys. Would Junior have gone and taken a strapping if Merton hadn’t returned?”
“Yes, indeed he would, and he knows my strappin’s are no make-believe. That boy has no sly, mean tricks to speak of, but he’s as tough and obstinate as a mule sometimes, especially about shooting and fishing. See him now a-p’intin’ for that rabbit, like a hound.”
True enough, the boy was showing good woodcraft. Restraining Merton, he cautiously approached the tracks, which by reason of the lightness and depth of the snow were not very distinct.
“He can’t be far away,” said Junior, excitedly. “Don’t go too fast till I see which way he was a-p’intin’. We don’t want to follow the tracks back, but for’ard. See, he came out of that old wall there, he went to these bushes and nibbled some twigs, and here he goes—here he went—here—here—yes, he went into the wall again just here. Now, Merton, watch this hole while I jump over the other side of the fence and see if he comes out again. If he makes a start, grab him.”
John Jones and I were now almost as excited as the boys, and Mr. Rollins, the neighbor who was following us, was standing up in his sleigh to see the sport. It came quickly. As if by some instinct the rabbit believed Junior to be the more dangerous, and made a break from the wall almost at Merton’s feet, with such swiftness and power as to dash by him like a shot. The first force of its bound over, it was caught by nature’s trap—snow too deep and soft to admit of rapid running.
John Jones soon proved that Junior came honestly by his passion for hunting. In a moment he was floundering through the bushes with his son and Merton. In such pursuit of game my boy had the advantage, for he was as agile as a cat. But a moment or two elapsed before he caught up with the rabbit, and threw himself upon it, then rose, white as a snowman, shouting triumphantly and holding the little creature aloft by its ears.
“Never rate Junior for hunting again,” I said, laughingly, to Mr. Jones. “He’s a chip of the old block.”
“I rather guess he is,” my neighbor acknowledged, with a grin. “I own up I used to be pretty hot on such larkin’. We all keep forgettin’ we was boys once.”
As we rode on, Merton was a picture of exultation, and Junior was on the sharp lookout again. His father turned on him and said: “Now look a’ here, enough’s as good as a feast. I’ll blindfold you if you don’t let the tracks alone. Mrs. Durham wants her things, so she can begin to live. Get up there;” and a crack of the whip ended all further hopes on the part of the boys. But they felt well repaid for coming, and Merton assured Junior that he deserved half the credit, for only he knew how to manage the hunt.
XV
Our Sunny Kitchen
Before we reached the landing I had
