It was a month later, and a whole autumn's length colder, when the two
men were coming home from a long tramp through the woods. They had
been making a solemn inspection of a wood-lot that they owned together,
and had now visited their landmarks and outer boundaries, and settled
the great question of cutting or not cutting some large pines. When it
was well decided that a few years' growth would be no disadvantage to
the timber, they had eaten an excellent cold luncheon and rested from
their labors.
"I don't feel a day older 'n ever I did when I get out in the woods thi
way," announced John York, who was a prim, dusty-looking little man, a
prudent person, who had been selectman of the town at least a dozen
times.
"No more do I," agreed his companion, who was large and jovial and
open-handed, more like a lucky sea-captain than a farmer. After
pounding a slender walnut-tree with a heavy stone, he had succeeded in
getting down a pocketful of late-hanging nuts which had escaped the
squirrels, and was now snapping them back, one by one, to a venturesome
chipmunk among some little frost-bitten beeches. Isaac Brown had a
wonderfully pleasant way of getting on with all sorts of animals, even
men. After a while they rose and went their way, these two companions,
stopping here and there to look at a possible woodchuck's hole, or to
strike a few hopeful blows at a hollow tree with the light axe which
Isaac had carried to blaze new marks on some of the line-trees on the
farther edge of their possessions. Sometimes they stopped to admire
the size of an old hemlock, or to talk about thinning out the young
pines. At last they were not very far from the entrance to the great
tract of woodland. The yellow sunshine came slanting in much brighter
against the tall trunks, spotting them with golden light high among the
still branches.
Presently they came to a great ledge, frost-split and cracked into
mysterious crevices.
"Here's where we used to get all the coons," said John York. "I have
n't seen a coon this great while, spite o' your courage knocking on the
trees up back here. You know that night we got the four fat ones? We
started 'em somewheres near here, so the dog could get after 'em when
they come out at night to go foragin'."
"Hold on, John;" and Mr. Isaac Brown got up from the log where he had
just sat down to rest, and went to the ledge, and looked carefully all
about. When he came back he was much excited, and beckoned his friend
away, speaking in a stage whisper.
"I guess you 'll see a coon before you 're much older," he proclaimed.
"I 've thought it looked lately as if there 'd been one about my place,
and there's plenty o' signs here, right in their old haunts. Couple o'
hens' heads an' a lot o' feathers"--
"Might be a fox," interrupted John York.
"Might be a coon," answered Mr. Isaac Brown. "I 'm goin' to have him,
too. I 've been lookin' at every old hollow tree I passed, but I never
thought o' this place. We 'll come right off to-morrow night, I guess,
John, an' see if we can't get him. 'T is an extra handy place for 'em
to den; in old times the folks always called it a good place; they 've
been so sca'ce o' these late years that I 've thought little about 'em.
Nothin' I ever liked so well as a coon-hunt. Gorry! he must be a big
old fellow, by his tracks! See here, in this smooth dirt; just like a
baby's footmark."
"Trouble is, we lack a good dog," said John York anxiously, after he
had made an eager inspection. "I don't know where in the world to get
one, either. There ain't no such a dog about as your Rover, but you
've let him get spoilt; these days I don't see him leave the yard. You
ought to keep the women folks from overfeedin' of him so. He ought to
've lasted a good spell longer. He's no use for huntin' now, that's
certain."
Isaac accepted the rebuke meekly. John York was a calm man, but he now
grew very fierce under such a provocation. Nobody likes to be hindered
in a coon-hunt.
"Oh, Rover's too old, anyway," explained the affectionate master
regretfully. "I 've been wishing all this afternoon I 'd brought him;
but I did n't think anything about him as we came away, I 've got so
used to seeing him layin' about the yard. 'T would have been a real
treat for old Rover, if he could have kept up. Used to be at my heels
the whole time. He could n't follow us, anyway, up here."
"I should n't wonder if he could," insisted John, with a humorous
glance at his old friend, who was much too heavy and huge of girth for
quick transit over rough ground. John York himself had grown lighter
as he had grown older.
"I 'll tell you one thing we could do," he hastened to suggest. "There
's that dog of 'Bijah Topllff's. Don't you know the old lady told us,
that day she went over to Dipford, how high he was valued? Most o'
'Bijah's important business was done in the fall, goin' out by night,
gunning with fellows from the mills. He was just the kind of a
worthless do-nothing that's sure to have an extra knowin' smart dog. I
expect 'Liza Jane 's got him now. Perhaps we could get him by
to-morrow night. Let one o' my boys go over!"
"Why, 'Liza Jane 's come, bag an' baggage, to spend the winter with her
mother," exclaimed Isaac Brown, springing to his feet like a boy. "I
've had it in mind to tell you two or three times this afternoon, and
then something else has flown it out of my head. I let my John Henry
take the long-tailed wagon an' go down to the depot this mornin' to
fetch her an' her goods up. The old lady come in early, while we were
to breakfast, and to hear her lofty talk you 'd thought 't would taken
a couple o' four-horse teams to move her. I told John Henry he might
take that wagon and fetch up what light stuff he could, and see how
much else there was, an' then I 'd make further arrangements. She said
'Liza Jane 'd see me well satisfied, an' rode off, pleased to death. I
see 'em returnin' about eight, after the train was in. They 'd got
'Liza Jane with 'em, smaller 'n ever; and there was a trunk tied up
with a rope, and a small roll o' beddin' and braided mats, and a
quilted rockin'-chair. The old lady was holdin' on tight to a
bird-cage with nothin' in it. Yes; an' I see the dog, too, in behind.
He appeared kind of timid. He 's a yaller dog, but he ain't
stump-tailed. They hauled up out front o' the house, and mother an' I
went right out; Mis' Price always expects to have notice taken. She
was in great sperits. Said 'Liza Jane concluded to sell off most of
her stuff rather 'n have the care of it. She 'd told the folks that
Mis' Topliff had a beautiful sofa and a lot o' nice chairs, and two
framed pictures that would fix up the house complete, and invited us
all to come over and see 'em. There, she seemed just as pleased
returnin' with the bird-cage. Disappointments don't appear to trouble
her no more than a butterfly. I kind of like the old creatur'; I don't
mean to see her want."
"They 'll let us have the dog," said John York. "I don't know but I
'll give a quarter for him, and we 'll let 'em have a good piece o' the
coon."
"You really comin' 'way up here by night, coon-huntin'?" asked Isaac
Brown, looking reproachfully at his more agile comrade.
"I be," answered John York.
"I was dre'tful afraid you was only talking, and might back out,"
returned the cheerful heavy-weight, with a chuckle. "Now we 've got
things all fixed, I feel more like it than ever. I tell you there's
just boy enough left inside of me. I 'll clean up my old gun to-morrow
mornin', and you look right after your'n. I dare say the boys have
took good care of 'em for us, but they don't know what we do about
huntin', and we 'll bring 'em all along and show 'em a little fun."
"All right," said John York, as soberly as if they were going to look
after a piece of business for the town; and they gathered up the axe
and other light possessions, and started toward home.