Two little boys sat on the fence whittling arrows one fine day. Said one
little boy to the other little boy,--
"Let's do something jolly."
"All right. What will we do?"
"Run off to the woods and be hunters."
"What can we hunt?"
"Bears and foxes."
"Mullin says there ain't any round here."
"Well, we can shoot squirrels and snare woodchucks."
"Haven't got any guns and trap."
"We've got our bows, and I found an old trap behind the barn."
"What will we eat?"
"Here's our lunch; and when that's gone we can roast the squirrels and
cook the fish on a stick. I know how."
"Where will you get the fire?"
"Got matches in my pocket."
"I've got a lot of things we could use. Let's see."
And as if satisfied at last, cautious Billy displayed his treasures,
while bold Tommy did the same.
Besides the two knives there were strings, nails, matches, a piece of
putty, fish-hooks, and two very dirty handkerchiefs.
"There, sir, that's a first-rate fit-out for hunters; and with the jolly
basket of lunch Mrs. Mullin gave us, we can get on tip-top for two or
three days," said Tommy, eager to be off.
"Where shall we sleep?" asked Billy, who liked to be comfortable both
night and day.
"Oh, up in trees or on beds of leaves, like the fellows in our books. If
you are afraid, stay at home; I'm going to have no end of a good time."
And Tommy crammed the things back into his pockets as if there were no
time to lose.
"Pooh! I ain't afraid. Come on!" And jumping down Billy caught up his
rod, rather ashamed of his many questions.
No one was looking at them, and they might have walked quietly off; but
that the "running away" might be all right, both raced down the road,
tumbled over a wall, and dashed into the woods as if a whole tribe of
wild Indians were after them.
"Do you know the way?" panted Billy, when at last they stopped for
breath.
"Yes, it winds right up the mountain; but we'd better not keep to it, or
some one will see us and take us back. We are going to be _real_ hunters
and have adventures; so we must get lost, and find our way by the sun
and the stars," answered Tommy, who had read so many Boys' Books his
little head was a jumble of Texan Rangers, African Explorers, and
Buffalo Bills; and he burned to outdo them all.
"What will our mothers say if we really get lost?" asked Billy, always
ready with a question.
"Mine won't fuss. She lets me do what I like."
That was true; for Tommy's poor mamma was tired of trying to keep the
lively little fellow in order, and had got used to seeing him come out
of all his scrapes without much harm.
"Mine will be scared; she's always afraid I'm going to get hurt, so I'm
careful. But I guess I'll risk it, and have some fun to tell about when
we go home," said Billy, trudging after Captain Tommy, who always took
the lead.
These eleven-year-old boys were staying with their mothers at a
farm-house up among the mountains; and having got tired of the tame
bears, the big barn, the trout brook, the thirty colts at pasture, and
the society of the few little girls and younger boys at the hotel near
by, these fine fellows longed to break loose and "rough it in the bush,"
as the hunters did in their favorite stories.
Away they went, deeper and deeper into the great forest that covered the
side of the mountain. A pleasant place that August day; for it was cool
and green, with many brooks splashing over the rocks, or lying in brown
pools under the ferns. Squirrels chattered and raced in the tall pines;
now and then a gray rabbit skipped out of sight among the brakes, or a
strange bird flew by. Here and there blackberries grew in the open
places, sassafras bushes were plentiful, and black-birch bark was ready
for chewing.
"Don't you call this nice?" asked Tommy, pausing at last in a little
dell where a noisy brook came tumbling down the mountain side, and the
pines sung overhead.
"Yes; but I'm awful hungry. Let's rest and eat our lunch," said Billy,
sitting down on a cushion of moss.
"You always want to be stuffing and resting," answered sturdy Tommy, who
liked to be moving all the time.
He took the fishing-basket, which hung over his shoulder by a strap, and
opened it carefully; for good Mrs. Mullin had packed a nice lunch of
bread and butter, cake and peaches, with a bottle of milk, and two large
pickles slipped in on the sly to please the boys.
Tommy's face grew very sober as he looked in, for all he saw was a box
of worms for bait and an old jacket.
"By George! we've got the wrong basket. This is Mullin's, and he's gone
off with our prog. Won't he be mad?"
"Not as mad as I am. Why didn't you look? You are always in such a hurry
to start. What _shall_ we do now without anything to eat?" whined Billy;
for losing his lunch was a dreadful blow to him.
"We shall have to catch some fish and eat blackberries. Which will you
do, old cry-baby?" said Tommy, laughing at the other boy's dismal face.
"I'll fish; I'm so tired I can't go scratching round after berries. I
don't love 'em either." And Billy began to fix his line and bait his
hook.
"Lucky we got the worms; you can eat 'em if you can't wait for fish,"
said Tommy, bustling about to empty the basket and pile up their few
possessions in a heap. "There's a quiet pool below here, you go and fish
there. I'll pick the berries, and then show you how to get dinner in the
woods. This is our camp; so fly round and do your best."
Then Tommy ran off to a place near by where he had seen the berries,
while Billy found a comfortable nook by the pool, and sat scowling at
the water so crossly, it was a wonder any trout came to his hook. But
the fat worms tempted several small ones, and he cheered up at the
prospect of food. Tommy whistled while he picked, and in half an hour
came back with two quarts of nice berries and an armful of dry sticks
for the fire.
"We'll have a jolly dinner, after all," he said, as the flames went
crackling up, and the dry leaves made a pleasant smell.
"Got four, but don't see how we'll ever cook 'em; no frying-pan,"
grumbled Billy, throwing down the four little trout, which he had half
cleaned.
"Don't want any. Broil 'em on the coals, or toast 'em on a forked stick.
I'll show you how," said cheerful Tommy, whittling away, and feeding his
fire as much like a real hunter as a small boy could be.
While he worked, Billy ate berries and sighed for bread and butter. At
last, after much trouble, two of the trout were half cooked and eagerly
eaten by the hungry boys. But they were very different from the nice
brown ones Mrs. Mullin gave them; for in spite of Tommy's struggles they
would fall in the ashes, and there was no salt to eat with them. By the
time the last were toasted, the young hunters were so hungry they could
have eaten anything, and not a berry was left.
"I set the trap down there, for I saw a hole among the vines, and I
shouldn't wonder if we got a rabbit or something," said Tommy, when the
last bone was polished. "You go and catch some more fish, and I'll see
if I have caught any old chap as he went home to dinner."
Off ran Tommy; and the other boy went slowly back to the brook, wishing
with all his might he was at home eating sweet corn and berry pie.
The trout had evidently gone to their dinners, for not one bite did poor
Billy get; and he was just falling asleep when a loud shout gave him
such a fright that he tumbled into the brook up to his knees.
"I've got him! Come and see! He's a bouncer," roared Tommy, from the
berry bushes some way off.
Billy scrambled out, and went as fast as his wet boots would let him, to
see what the prize was. He found Tommy dancing wildly round a fat gray
animal, who was fighting to get his paws out of the trap, and making a
queer noise as he struggled about.
"What is it?" asked Billy, getting behind a tree as fast as possible;
for the thing looked fierce, and he was very timid.
"A raccoon, I guess, or a big woodchuck. Won't his fur make a fine cap?
I guess the other fellows will wish they'd come with us," said Tommy,
prancing to and fro, without the least idea what to do with the
creature.
"He'll bite. We'd better run away and wait till he's dead," said Billy.
"Wish he'd got his head in, then I could carry him off; but he does look
savage, so we'll have to leave him awhile, and get him when we come
back. But he's a real beauty." And Tommy looked proudly at the bunch of
gray fur scuffling in the sand.
"Can we ever eat him?" asked hungry Billy, ready for a fried crocodile
if he could get it.
"If he's a raccoon, we can; but I don't know about woodchucks. The
fellows in my books don't seem to have caught any. He's nice and fat; we
might try him when he's dead," said Tommy, who cared more for the skin
to show than the best meal ever cooked.