Uncle Elk declined the invitation of Scout Master Hall to stay over
night at the bungalow, and bidding his friends good bye, with the
promise soon to see them again, he went forth staff in hand into the dim
woods on his tramp to his lonely home to the eastward.
It cannot be said of any portion of our country that it enjoys a perfect
climate, though some sections are highly favored in that respect. Maine
is an ideal summer resort, with its crystal waters, its cool breezes and
its pure air. When people were panting with intolerable heat in many
cities, I have never known an uncomfortable night or oppressive midday
in the southern part of the Pine Tree State.
All the same, the weather at times on the seacoast is about as
disagreeable as it can well be. Drizzling rain and mists, dank,
impenetrable fogs and chilling winds make a roaring fire attractive, and
cause many a person to long for his city home, where every convenience
and luxury are at command. I make no reference to the winter season,
except to say that there is no better State in the Union to avoid unless
you have a fondness for arctic exploration.
The morning succeeding Uncle Elk’s last call brought lowering skies. The
chill in the air presaged an unwelcome change, when the bungalow would
prove far more inviting than the open woods, even though the Boy Scouts
were provided with tents and all the protection possible against
climatic severity. Since, however, the dismal shift was not likely to
come for several hours, our young friends determined to make the best
use possible of the hours at their command. So, as they had done before,
they separated into small groups, most of which took different
directions in the woods. Scout Master Hall went with Chase his leader
and Robe his corporal on a hunt for birds, or rather to study their
peculiarities. Nearly all the scouts were amateur ornithologists, and
there was no little rivalry among them as to who could discover the
greater variety of feathered songsters.
I am sure you will agree with me that this field is one of the most
fascinating in natural history. I should like to copy the report which
Patrol Leader Chase and three of the other boys read at the following
business meeting of the troop, but I think we have dipped far enough
into scientific matters for the present, and shall defer the treat to
another season. If you feel like making an effort to learn about our
“little brothers of the air,” I commend the following table from the
official Handbook of the Boy Scouts:
1. Description. (Size, form, color, and markings.)
2. Haunts. (Upland, lowland, lakes, rivers, woods, fields, etc.)
3. Movements. (Slow or active, hops, walks, creeps, swims, tail
wagged, etc.)
4. Appearance. (Alert, listless, crest erect, tail dropped,
etc.)
5. Disposition. (Solitary, flocking, wary, unsuspicious, etc.)
6. Flight. (Slow, rapid, direct, undulating, soaring, sailing,
flapping, etc.)
7. Song. (Pleasing, unattractive, long, short, loud, faint, sung
from the ground, from a perch, in the air, etc. Season of song.)
8. Call notes. (Of surprise, alarm, protest, warning, signaling,
etc,) 9. Season. (Spring, fall, summer, winter, with times of
arrival and departure and variations in numbers.)
10. Food. (Berries, insects, seeds, etc.; how secured.)
11. Mating. (Habits during courtship.)
12. Nesting. (Choice of site, material, construction, eggs,
incubation, etc.)
13. The young. (Food and care of, time in the nest, notes,
actions, flight, etc.)
Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy decided to borrow one of
the canoes belonging to the clubhouse, paddle across the lake and call
upon Doctor Spellman, who had dropped into the home of Uncle Elk the day
before. The weather was favorable for fishing, the game being abundant
in Gosling Lake, but such sport could wait, and the lads agreed that
nothing ought to divert them from their social obligations.
The three had gained more or less experience in the management of canoes
during their stay on Southport Island. Alvin was the most and Mike the
least expert, though the latter was not as awkward as would be supposed.
Two paddles belonged to each craft, the third being taken from the
second boat, so that all the youths were provided. These implements were
about four feet long and were broadened at one end into a thin but tough
blade and at the other into a comfortable hand grip. Seated on the
wicker seats and facing forward, the task of driving the canoe may be
continued a long while before it becomes tiresome.
An axiom is that no person should ever enter a canoe when it is not
afloat, on account of its frailty. Grasping the curving bow with one
hand, Alvin drew the craft alongside the bank where the water was
several feet deep, and held it steady while his friends stepped
carefully in and seated themselves, Alvin at the stern, which was a
counterpart of the bow, while Chester located himself on the forward
seat and Mike in the middle.
“I’m to sarve as a balance wheel,” he said as they moved gingerly out
from shore; “the same being what me mither’s cousin Tom remarked whin he
was bouncing over the cobble stones with his fut fast in the stirrup of
the donkey he had fell from; I’ll hev an eye on both of ye and don’t
forgit I’m still first mate.”
“You were first mate of the _Deerfoot_, not of a canoe,” said Alvin.
“The _Deerfut_ gave me the training fur the harder work of managing this
ship.”
Our friends would have had to search for the camp which they intended to
visit, but for the guidance given by a thin wavering column of smoke
which filtered upwards from among the trees a short distance back from
the shore of the lake, where the camp itself was hidden by the foliage.
The distance to be passed was a little less than a mile and the youths
rippled smoothly forward with their eyes fixed on their destination. As
they drew near, they observed a smaller canoe than their own drawn a
little way up the shingle. It was the craft used by Doctor Spellman when
fishing or exploring the sheet of water. Since the owner was not in
sight, it was fair to suppose he was at home unless perhaps he was
absent on an excursion in the woods.
In due time the canoe was driven alongside the other and drawn far
enough up the shore to be secure against drifting away. The three
stepped ashore, and followed a faintly worn path up the slight incline
among the trees and undergrowth with Alvin in the lead. Less than a
hundred yards took them to a pleasant scene, all of whose points they
learned a short time afterward.
It may be said that Doctor Spellman used the last thing in the way of an
improved dwelling in the wilderness. This was a portable house, and
consisted of two rooms, the side walls formed of screen cloth protected
inside when necessary by canvas drops, pierced with small windows of a
flexible transparent material. Outside were canvas drops which could be
lowered if the occupants wished to shut up the house and which when
raised formed projecting awnings where one was well protected by the
shade thus provided. There were two windows at either end of the house
and a front door.
Should you ever indulge in a few weeks’ outing in the woods, take no
furniture with you that will not fold and no article that is not
indispensable. Folding cots, a table, and the same kind of camp chairs
can be packed in a small space and cost little to move. The doctor had
sets of three folding canvas shelves fastened to wooden slats which
could be stowed in a few inches of space, water proof canvas buckets
holding three gallons each which folded compactly; waterproof canvas
folding basins and folding rubber bathtubs, while a packing box with the
addition of a shelf made a fine dresser. Extra shelves were put up by
the doctor when he laid the floor of his dwelling and hooked the
different parts together. Finally he provided himself with a hammock
which was hung between two sturdy saplings, and brought with him only
unbreakable dishes.
Most people in such situations bring a cheap wood or oil stove, but
Doctor Spellman used the primitive contrivance already described, which
consisted of big properly arranged stones.
On one of the camp chairs sat Doctor Spellman smoking one of the
expensive cigars to which Uncle Elk had alluded. He wore white flannels
turned up at the bottom, high tan shoes and a soft Panama hat. The boys
noticed his full, grizzled beard and recalled the declaration of their
Instructor concerning his age. He had a newspaper which he was reading
when he heard the approaching footsteps, but laid it on his knee and
removing his eye-glasses faced his callers.
Nearby sat Mrs. Spellman, a charming and strikingly beautiful woman of a
decided brunette type. Her dark eyes were set in a face of Grecian
regularity of feature, softened by her olive skin and crowned by dusky
hair filled with lights and shadows. She was clad in sensible woods
costume of blouse and short skirt which revealed her small feet encased
in hunting boots.
The moment the boys appeared, the host and hostess rose to greet them.
Each lad removed his hat and respectfully bowed, Alvin acting as
spokesman:
“Good morning; I hope we are not intruding.”
“Visitors are too few in this part of the world,” replied the doctor,
“for them to be otherwise than welcome. I am Doctor Spellman from
Boston; this is Mrs. Spellman; we have a third member of our family, but
she seems to be invisible at this moment. Pray be seated.”
Of course the boys declined the chairs offered since it would leave the
host and hostess without any support of that nature. The callers sat
down on a log, in the butt was an axe of which the blade had been buried
with the handle sloping upward.
Alvin in turn introduced himself and companions and all were at ease.
“You are with the party stopping at the clubhouse on the other side of
the lake? I judge from the display of flags and a glimpse of you through
my binoculars that you are a troop of Boy Scouts on a vacation.”
“Yes; we expect to stay there through the month of August.”
“Since you came last it was my duty to call upon you and I should have
done so to-day had not the weather been threatening a little while ago.”
“We can afford to waive ceremony while in the woods,” replied Alvin; “we
shall count upon seeing you both quite often.”
“You certainly shall. To-morrow is Sunday, and if it clears up you may
expect me and possibly Mrs. Spellman and our little one.”
In answer to the inquiring look of her husband the wife nodded.
“Don’t fancy that you can do your visiting without taking me along. You
left me home yesterday.”
“That, my dear, was unintentional; I had no thought of stopping at the
cabin of the hermit until I had been out some time in the canoe and
noticed the path leading to his cabin.”
Alvin related the particulars of the call of himself and friends upon
Uncle Elk and the clever manner in which he penetrated the personality
of Doctor Spellman.
“Are you acquainted with him?” asked Chester Haynes of their host.
“Only by reputation. He is known as Elkanah Sisum, though I have a
suspicion—perhaps not well founded—that that is not his right name. I
have been told that he is a man of superior culture. In fact, a glance
at his book shelves proves that. It is said that a great sorrow drove
him into the wilderness and made an exile of him. I have no knowledge of
its nature, but of course,” added the doctor with a wink, “some woman
was at the bottom of it.”
“An unnecessary remark,” replied the wife, “since that is rarely true.”
Alvin and Chester glanced significantly at each other and the former
said:
“Isn’t it singular that he should have told us last night the story of a
man who more than a hundred years ago became an exile and wanderer
because the woman whom he loved rejected him for another? There must
have been a resemblance between the case and his own.”
“You are alluding to Johnny Appleseed, and it is another coincidence
that wife and I were talking about that strange character last evening,
probably at the very time you were listening to the old man’s account. I
believe there was a remote relationship between wife’s ancestors and
Jonathan Chapman’s, which explains why we are familiar with a story that
is not generally known.”
“It was certainly new to all of us and Uncle Elk, as he likes to be
called, related it with rare skill.”
“He has never hinted anything of the facts of his own case?”
“No, and of course we cannot question him.”
“The truth will become known sooner or later. There are several old
persons in Portland who can clear up the mystery, which, however, may
wait. While I think of it, I wish to tender you my professional services
should they be needed, which I sincerely hope they will not. I have
brought my case of instruments and a few simple remedies with me, more
as a matter of prudence regarding my own family.”
“That is very kind of you, and your offer is appreciated.”
“I believe the Boy Scouts are pretty well instructed as to first aid to
the injured, but accidents are always liable to happen. I wish you and
your friends to feel free to call upon me at any time, with the
understanding that no fee is involved. I did not come into the Maine
woods to earn a living.”
“But to benefit his city patients,” remarked his wife; “when we return
home we shall find them nearly all recovered.”
“Hardly possible, since I have turned them over to my brother
practitioners.”
“Which makes the probability the greater.”
The boys joined in the laugh at the physician’s expense, and he, rising
from his camp stool, bowed profoundly to his better half.
“The team which brought our stuff over the new road through the woods is
the same that I understand brings your supplies. I expected from the way
we were hauled and flung about in the plunging of the horses that I
should have several cases of broken necks to look after, but we got
through better than I expected.”
“Docther, don’t ye think _I_ look pale?”