DICK LANGDON’S SENTIMENTS.
“We are students at the Montford Academy,” said Dick Langdon. “Yesterday
we asked for a short leave of absence, and came up here in search of fun
and adventure.”
“And we got all we wanted of both!” chimed in Bob Howard. “Dick lost his
canoe, and I lost my gun, but we caught a splendid string of fish, and I
had a twenty-minute fight with a muskalonge, that I shall remember as
long as I live.”
“You don’t say anything about the narrow escape we had from having our
brains dashed out on those rocks,” observed Dick.
“There’s no need that I should speak of that, for George knows as much
about it as we do. By-the-way, do you suppose the waves will leave
anything of that canoe? Our fishing-rods were stowed in one of the
lockers.”
“I am afraid you have seen them for the last time,” replied George. “But
I don’t think your gun is lost beyond recovery.”
“How shall we go to work to get it?”
“If the lake is quiet to-morrow, we can dive for it. I think I can go
right to the spot where your boat was capsized.”
“How deep is the water?”
“About thirty feet.”
“You don’t pretend to say that you can bring up bottom at that depth, do
you?”
“Oh, yes! I can go deeper than that, when I have a high place to take a
plunge from.”
“Well, you are better at diving than I am, and I will make it worth your
while to get that gun for me. I value it highly, for it was the last
thing my father gave me before I left my Western home to come to this
academy. So this is where you live, is it?” said Bob, as George entered
the cabin door and invited them to enter.
Wood was already laid upon the hearth, and it was but the work of a
moment to touch a lighted match to it and set it going.
Then George and his new friends pulled off some of their wet clothes,
and, having wrung the water out of them, they hung them over the stools
to dry.
The fire was soon blazing merrily, and, as the boys turned themselves
slowly about in front of it and listened to the howling of the storm and
the beating of the rain on the roof, they felt a sense of comfort and
security that was decidedly refreshing after their recent experience.
“Now, isn’t this glorious?” said Dick Langdon, adjusting his spectacles
and spreading his hands over the warm blaze. “I believe there must be
some Indian about me, for do you know, fellows, that I have often
thought I should like to live this way all my life?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dick straightened up, turned his back to
the fire and sung, in a clear, mellow voice:
“I’ve a home in the woods, the dark green woods,
’Neath the shade of the old oak tree,
Where the wild birds warble their songs of praise,
In tones so wild and free.
A lovely place is this home of mine—
A quiet, a dear little spot;
And over my casement the vine doth entwine,
Like an angel, to watch o’er my cot!”
“The sentiment is very fine, no doubt,” said Bob Howard. “But if that
dear little home of yours was covered with snow, so that you couldn’t
stir out of it for months; and your firewood gave out, and the wolves
came and serenaded you every day and glared down at you through the
chimney; and your provisions run short, and you saw starvation staring
you in the face! I tell you what’s a fact, Dick; I know something about
that. There has been a good deal of nonsense written about life in the
woods. You could not stand it three months.”
“I’d like to try,” said Dick.
“I’ll change places with you,” said George. “I’ll give you my house, if
you will give me your seat at the academy.”
“Would you like to go there?”
“Indeed I would.”
“Then, why don’t you go?”
George was so surprised at this question, that he did not reply to it.
Why didn’t he go? Where were his guest’s eyes and ears? Would he, or any
other boy, who was in full possession of his senses, be likely to make a
hermit of himself from choice?
Of course, he could not tell them that he had no money to pay for four
years’ tuition at the academy, and so he held his peace; but his silence
told his new friends all they wanted to know, and they then and there
made up their minds to act accordingly.
After the two boys had warmed themselves and dried their clothing, Dick
proceeded to overhaul his gun, and Bob assisted George in laying the
table and preparing supper.
It was not much the latter had to place before his guests—nothing but
bread and butter, a few vegetables and a cup of tea; but there were half
a dozen young squirrels in Bob’s game-bag, which the owner had saved
simply because it happened to be slung over his shoulder when the canoe
was capsized; and when these had been cleaned and roasted over the
coals, the meal was ready.
George’s long walk had given him a good appetite, and the ducking Dick
and Bob had received must have had a similar effect upon them, for the
edibles rapidly disappeared, and in a few minutes every bone had been
picked clean.
“How did you two fellows happen to find your way to this lonely region?”
asked George, as he threw more wood on the fire and drew one of the
stools into the chimney corner.
“Oh, we have often heard of this lake and the fine fishing that could be
enjoyed here, if one had a boat to go about in; so I sent home for my
canoe,” replied Dick Langdon. “When it came, we hired a team to bring us
and our trappings up here, and asked the professor for a holiday. We are
to go back to-morrow night, for no student is allowed to be away from
the village over Sunday, unless he is known to be at home, where he
can’t get into mischief.”
“Where is your camp?”
“We haven’t any. We slept in Mr. Stebbins’ barn last night.”
“In his barn!” repeated George. “Why didn’t you go into the house?”
“Because the old fellow wouldn’t let us,” said Dick, with a laugh. “We
gave him abundant proof that we were able to pay for our supper and
lodging, but he would not listen to us.”
“And while he was talking to us, he held the door open just about two
inches,” observed Bob. “He acted as if he was afraid of us.”
“Very likely he was,” said George. “If all reports are true, he’s got a
pile of money hidden away somewhere in his house.”
“Ah, that accounts for his suspicions, then. For a while, we thought we
would have to stay out of doors all night,” continued Dick; “but
finally, the old fellow said we might sleep on the hay, if we wouldn’t
smoke. And just before dark he brought us a mouthful of bread and butter
and about half a pint of milk.”
“And charged us a dollar for it!” said Bob, in a tone of disgust. “He’s
a regular old skin-flint. But if he keeps so much money in the house, I
shouldn’t think he and his wife would want to live there alone. If some
tramp should happen to find it out, it might be bad for them, for they
are too old to defend themselves, and there isn’t another house on the
lake—is there?”
“Yes, there is one at the lower end,” replied George; “but I am his
nearest neighbor.”
When bedtime came, George spread all his quilts and blankets on the
floor in front of the fire, and he and his guests went to sleep, lulled
by the howling of the storm, which continued to rage with unabated fury
until long after midnight; but the morning broke bright and clear, and
at the first peep of day the boys were astir.
They looked out at the door, and saw that the lake was as smooth as a
mill-pond. There was nothing to prevent them from making an attempt to
recover Bob Howard’s lost fowling-piece.
“But first, I must have a good breakfast of fish,” said that young
gentleman. “We lost those we caught yesterday, but fortunately, I have
both hooks and lines in one of the pockets of my game-bag.”
“And there’s an axe, and you will find plenty of poles behind the
cabin,” said George, “While you are cutting them, I will go down and
bring up the scow.”
“Did you save any cartridges?” asked Dick Langdon, who stood just
outside the door, with his head turned on one side, as if he were
listening intently.
“I did; and as they are loaded in water-proof cases, they are not
injured in the least.”
“Well, your gun is the same calibre as mine, and if you will give me
some of those cartridges, I’ll see if I can get a squirrel or two for
breakfast. I hear one barking out there in the woods.”
Bob handed his game-bag to Dick, who slung it over his shoulder and set
out in search of the squirrels, while George hurried down the beach to
bring up the scow.
By the time he returned, Bob had rigged a pole and dug a supply of bait;
and when he had got into the boat, George pulled him to the nearest
fishing-ground.
“There’s nothing like knowing where to go to find the best places,” said
Bob, half an hour later, as he surveyed with no little satisfaction, the
fine string of yellow perch which was floating in the water alongside
the scow. “Yesterday, Dick and I tried all the likely spots along the
opposite shore, but we didn’t get a bite until we got down to the lower
end of the lake.”
“That was because you didn’t understand the habits of the fish,” replied
George. “When the season first opens, you will find them along the
beach, just outside the weeds; but as the weather grows warmer, they
draw off into deep holes, and at this time of the year you will find the
best fishing in about forty feet of water.”
While Bob was engaged in hauling in the perch, almost as fast as he
could bait his hook, Dick Langdon was not idle. His gun spoke at short
intervals, and as Dick was a fine marksman, he did not throw away a
single charge of shot.
When the fishermen returned to the cabin, they found him sitting on a
log in front of it, with half a dozen gray squirrels at his side. He
might have secured as many more if he had felt so disposed, but being a
thorough-bred young sportsman, he did not believe in killing more game
than he could use.
Breakfast was soon cooked and eaten, and then Dick and Bob announced
that they were ready to see George make an attempt to recover the lost
fowling-piece.
The lake being quiet, they had a fair view of the rocks on which they
had so narrowly escaped being wrecked, and they shuddered as they looked
at them.