The sylvan scene,--the moon shedding its light around, the low music
of the gently rippling waves, the spicy odor of the burning cedar, the
snow-white clouds and deep blue of the sky mirrored in the stream,
made it a place fit at least for rural divinities. Pan might have
looked in,--ah! he is dead,--his ghost then might have looked in upon
them from behind some old gnarled tree, with a frown of envy at this
intrusion upon his ancient domain.
On the following morning, at the first faint glimmering of light,
Micah was alert. He shook our young hero's shoulder and woke him from
a pleasant dream.
"Neow's the time, Captin'", said Micah, speaking in a cautious
undertone, "neow's the time, ef we do it at all, to nab them deer.
While your gittin' rigged and takin' a cold bite, I'll tell ye the lay
o' things. Ye see, don't ye, that pint o' land ahead on us, a juttin'
out into the stream? Well, we've got to put the canoe on the water
right away, hustle in the things, and percede just as whist and
keerful as we ken, to that pint. Jest beyend that, I expect the
animils, when day's fairly up, will come to drink. And there's where
we'll get a shot at 'em".
"But what makes you expect they'll come to drink at that particular
place, Micah?"
"You see that pooty steep hill, that slopes up jest back o' the pint
o' land, don't ye? Well, behind that hill which is steeper 'n it looks
to be, there's a largish, level piece of greound that's been burnt
over within a few years, and it's grown up to tall grass and got a
number o' clumps of young trees on it, and it's 'bout surreounded by a
lot o' master rocky hills.
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