As Mike Murphy approached the landing he saw the second canoe drawn up
the beach, which was proof that his friends had returned from their
excursion to the western end of the lake. The bright light from the main
room of the clubhouse showed that the Boy Scouts were gathered there and
he decided to go in.
The night was so mild that no fire burned on the broad hearth, but the
suspended lamp filled the apartment with a soft illumination which
served almost as well as midday. Jack Crandall, the hero of the broken
leg, sat in his invalid chair in front of the fireplace and at his side
was Uncle Elk. Jack had been listening to the reports of his young
friends who had been investigating trees, but were mostly interested in
bird lore. The comments which Jack made on the written notes as read to
him showed that he was the best informed of any of the Scouts concerning
birds. He cleared up many doubts and answered questions so intelligently
that the venerable Instructor in Woodcraft complimented him.
Mike came through the open door so silently that none of the boys
noticed him. No chair being available, he sat down on the floor, as the
majority had already done. He was near the entrance and aimed to avoid
observation, but as Uncle Elk from his position faced him it was
probable he noticed the lad, as did Jack Crandall, who also fronted that
direction.
The reports and the comments thereon having been finished, the old man
was speaking:
“To make satisfactory progress in acquiring knowledge,” said he in his
low, musical voice to which all listened with alert interest, “you must
do so systematically. In our tramp through the woods the other day we
picked up a good deal of information, but it was haphazard. We talked of
trees as we came across them, but it was fragmentary and ten times as
much was left unlearned as was learned. I am glad to know that your
Scout Master has followed the right course in directing your study of
our native trees, not alone in Maine but as far north as Canada,
westward to the Rockies and down to the northern boundaries of the
Southern States. The subject is too vast for us to cover in one evening
or in a dozen evenings. Let us rather summarize. We shall put our wits
together and see how many families we can name, without giving the
different species under each. The first is the magnolia family, of which
there are four varieties, while under the custard apple there is but
one, the papaw. Now let me hear from you.”
Nearly an hour was spent during which scarcely a boy in the room kept
silent. The pleased old man nodded his head and finally raised his hand
for quiet.
“I believe you have mentioned about all. Now, while Isaac jots down the
names at the table, let’s try to evolve something like order therefrom.
Are you ready?”
Isaac Rothstein nodded and held his lead pencil over the paper. Here is
the list upon which all finally agreed:
Magnolia, custard-apple, linden, rue, ailantus, holly, staff-tree,
buckthorn, rose, pea, sumach, maple, horse chestnut, heath, honeysuckle,
dogwood, ginseng, witch hazel, ebony, olive, begonia, laurel, mulberry,
elm, plane-tree, walnut, birch, beech, willow, pine, yew and oak.
“None of you has seen all of these,” continued the old man, “but I hope
you will have the opportunity of studying their peculiarities sometime.
To illustrate what a rich treat is before you, we shall give a few
minutes’ attention to the oak family, concerning which you may think I
had considerable to say the other day. Let me show you how much was left
unsaid.
“Most persons think of the oak as a slow grower. This is true of two or
three species but not of the family. The majority need a hundred years
to attain perfection and they rarely bear acorns until twenty years old.
The acorn requires no protection in order to mature, and those that are
not eaten by wild animals or trodden under foot do their work well. The
_quercus_ is one of the longest-lived trees.”
“What is the greatest age that they attain, Uncle Elk?” asked Scout
Master Hall, one of the most interested in the audience.
“It is impossible to say, but there is little doubt that many of them
flourish for a thousand years. There are vigorous oaks to-day in England
that were old in the time of William the Conqueror. The famous White Oak
of Hartford, in which Captain Wadsworth hid the charter two hundred and
twenty-five years ago, was several centuries old at the time, and it was
not until the summer of 1856 that a windstorm brought it to the ground.
While it is one of the most valuable of the family, the white oak is in
danger of extinction, because of its value as timber and on account of
the sweetness of its nuts, which makes it a favorite with wild creatures
that will not eat the bitter acorns of other oaks. You know the white
oak is so called because of the color of its bark, which however is
generally an ashen gray. Can any of you tell me the name of the oak that
is fifty feet or slightly more in height, grows in Texas, has a
fine-checked bark nearly the color of the white oak, with an awkward
form and has shoots along the whole length of its branches, with the
leaves coarse and rough on both sides? I shall not wait for you to guess
the name, which is the post oak.
“The bur oak grows to a height of a hundred and fifty feet and ranges
south to Texas and from the foothills of the Rockies to the Atlantic
coast, being most abundant in Kansas and Nebraska. One of J. Fenimore
Cooper’s most pleasing tales is ‘The Oak Openings,’ a name applied to
the scattered forests of Minnesota. Now, you may know that the cork of
commerce is the outer bark of an oak growing in southern Europe. The bur
oak seems to be striving to produce the same thing and probably will
succeed after awhile.
“The chestnut oak sometimes reaches a height of a hundred feet, but the
trunk divides into large limbs a few feet above the ground. It is found
in this State, westward through Ohio and as far south as Kentucky. It
has many features in common with the yellow oak, whose range is somewhat
different.
“The dwarf chinkapin, or scrub chestnut oak, is a shrub rarely more than
a dozen feet high and grows on sandy or rocky soil. We do not meet with
it north of Massachusetts. In Missouri and Kansas, it acquires
dimensions more like a tree.
“The swamp white oak grows to a height of more than a hundred feet, and
is fond of the borders of swamps. The top is narrow and round and the
branches pendulous. You know about the red oak, which is a rapid grower
and ranges from this State to Georgia and westward to Kansas, but
attains its finest development north of the Ohio.
“To continue, I should add the names of the scarlet oak, the black and
the yellow oak, the pin oak, the swamp Spanish, the bear, the scrub, the
black jack, the barren, the shingle, the laurel, and the willow.
“You have noticed that I have done little more than mention the names of
the different species. You have learned very little, for it is necessary
that you should know the range of each, the height to which it grows,
the characteristics of the bark, the wood, the leaves, the flowers and
acorns. In conclusion, I shall say that the willow oak is one of the
most interesting of trees. Its leaves resemble those of the willow, as
do the straight slender shoots. It grows on the wet borders of swamps,
but keeps away from the sea coast. Its acorns are very small, with a
kernel so bitter that you would never bite into it a second time.
“My object this evening,” said Uncle Elk, “has been rather to awaken a
desire on your part to study systematically our common American trees
than to give you actual information. Let us dismiss the subject, for in
dropping a matter of that kind we should follow the rule in eating,
which is to stop before the appetite is cloyed. Suppose to-morrow night
we have a little talk about American birds.”
There was general nodding of heads and the old man rose to his feet. He
was so pleased with his listeners that he said:
“If we get through that subject in time, I’ll promise to tell you a
story, provided you would like to hear one from me.”
He could be seen smiling behind his abundant gray beard.
“Boys will be boys always. Nothing suits them better than a story. So I
shall bid you good night for the present, hoping nothing will interfere
with our meeting again to-morrow evening.”
“The better plan,” suggested Scout Master Hall, “is for you to take
supper with us, for I foresee that there will be much for you to tell
us. We don’t want to miss the talk about birds, and I am as eager as the
boys to hear your story, which I know will be a good one.”
All crowded around the Instructor in Woodcraft, shaking hands, thanking
him and urging him so warmly to accept the invitation that he could not
refuse. The last one with whom he clasped hands was Jack Crandall, who
straightened up in his easy chair and declared he was receiving more
benefit than a dozen doctors could impart.
Mike Murphy had risen to his feet at the close of the old man’s talk,
but kept his place by the door until Uncle Elk came opposite. A nod of
the hermit’s head told Mike that he wished to speak with him alone. The
signal was observed by several who stayed behind as the two passed out
and down the porch to the beach. Uncle Elk did not speak until they were
beyond the hearing of the others. Then he halted and looked into the
face of the youth.
“Well, Michael, what word do you bring me?”
“I told the docther what ye said and he is agreeable. He will not come
to the bungalow in the evening unless we signal for him, which the same
doesn’t seem to be likely.”
“That is what I wanted to know, and I thank you for your service. Well,
my son, did you learn anything to-night?”
The youth was not sure of the scope of the question.
“If ye ask whither I larned anything from your words to the byes, I may
say I picked up a good deal more than I iver knowed, which wasn’t much.”
“I refer to what you did after leaving the home of Dr. Spellman and
paddling to the upper side of the lake.”
“Did ye obsarve me?” asked the astonished Mike.
“How could I help it, when I passed within a few feet of you in my own
boat?”
“I didn’t notice it whin I came ashore.”
“I landed a little way up the beach, where my boat now awaits me. You
haven’t told me whether you learned anything through your scouting.”
“I saan no one but yersilf, but I heerd them two tramps laughing over
something and I smelled the cigar that one of them was smoking.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I don’t catch yer maaning, Uncle Elk,” said the mystified Mike; “I
sartinly sniffed a cigar and heerd two men chuckling to thimsilves.”
“I haven’t denied that, but they were not the tramps you have in mind.”
“How can ye know the same for sartin?”
“I went to that spot on the shore to meet those men; they are old
acquaintances and the name of neither is Biggs nor Hutt.”
“Who are they?”
“It would be useless to name them, since they are strangers to you.”
“Why didn’t ye stay and inthrodooce me?”
“I may do so one of these days, but I gave you a chance to find out
things for yourself.”
“And mighty little I larned,” remarked Mike disgustedly; “if ye don’t
mind, would ye tell me what the mischief scared thim two tramps to the
extint that they jumped out of the canoe they had stole and took a bath
in Gosling Lake?”
Uncle Elk was distinctly heard to chuckle.
“I had a talk with my two friends regarding the incident and I don’t
wonder that they laughed even after I had left them.”
“I faal like laughing mesilf, Uncle Elk, and if ye’ll give me the same
cause I’ll laugh so hard that it will wake the docther’s daughter on
t’other side of the lake.”
“Have patience, Michael, and don’t think I am trifling with you, but I
am under a promise not to reveal this little secret until I have
permission. Good night.”
Mike stood gazing after the old man until he passed from sight in the
obscurity and he heard him launching his canoe. Then the youth strolled
thoughtfully back.
“I’m getting mixed,” he muttered with a sigh, “as Jerry Lanagan said
whin they run him through a thrashing machine.”