sunrise is a gladsome event almost at all times; we say “almost,” because there are times when sunrise is not particularly gladsome. in the arctic regions of norway, for instance, we have seen it rise only twenty minutes after it set, and the rising and setting were so much mingled, that no very strong feelings of any kind were awakened. moreover, we were somewhat depressed at the time, in consequence of having failed to reach those latitudes where the sun does not set at all for several weeks in summer, but shines night and day. to the sick, sunrise brings little comfort; too often it is watched for with weariness, and beheld, at last, with a feeling of depression at the thought that another day of pain has begun. but to the healthy, and especially to the young, sunrise is undoubtedly, on most occasions, a gladsome event.
at least nelly gore thought so when she awoke and beheld, from the floor of the hut where she lay, a flood of yellow glory gushing through a valley, turning silver lake into gold, tipping the trees with fire, and blazing full in roy’s face, which was at that moment turned up to the sky with the mouth open, and the nose snoring.
“oh, how beautiful!” screamed nelly, in the exuberance of her delight.
“hallo! murder! come on, ye black varmints,” shouted roy, as he sprang up and seized the axe which lay at his side. “oh, it’s only you, what a yell you do give, nelly! why, one would think you were a born injun; what is’t all about, lass? ye-a-ow! how sleepy i am—too late to have another nap, i suppose, eh?”
“oh yes, lazy thing! get up and come out quick!” cried the other, as she sprang up and ran out of the hut to enjoy the full blaze of the sunshine, and the fresh morning air.
that morning nelly could do little but ramble about in a wild sort of fashion, trying to imagine that she was queen of the world around her! she sobered down, however, towards noon, and went diligently about the work which roy had given her to do. she had the internal arrangements of the hut to complete and improve, some pairs of mocassins to mend, and several arrows to feather, besides other matters.
meanwhile roy went out to hunt.
determined not to use his fast-diminishing ammunition, except on large game, and anxious to become more expert with the bow, he set to work the first thing that day, and made a new bow. armed with this and a dozen arrows, he sallied forth.
some of his arrows were pointed with ivory, some with iron, and some had no points at all, but blunt heavy heads instead. these latter were, and still are, used by indians in shooting game that is tame and easily killed. grouse of various kinds, for instance, if hit with full force from a short range by a blunt-headed arrow, will be effectually stunned, especially if hit on the head.
at first roy walked along the shores of the lake, but was not very successful, because the ducks and geese were hid among reeds, and rose suddenly with a distracting whirr, usually flying off over the water. to have let fly at these would have cost him an arrow every shot, so, after losing one, he wisely restrained himself.
after a time, he turned into the woods, resolving to try his fortune where his arrows were not so likely to be lost. he had not gone far, when a tree-grouse sprang into the air and settled on a neighbouring pine.
roy became excited, for he was anxious not to return to the hut empty-handed a second time. he fitted a sharp-headed arrow to the string, and advanced towards the bird cautiously. his anxiety to make little noise was so great, that he tripped over a root and fell with a hideous crash into the middle of a dead bush, the branches of which snapped like a discharge of little crackers. poor roy got up disgusted, but on looking up found that the grouse was still sitting there, filled apparently with more curiosity than alarm. seeing this he advanced to within a few yards of the bird, and, substituting a blunt arrow for the sharp one, discharged it with vigour. it hit the grouse on the left eye, and brought it to the ground like a stone.
“good, that’s ‘number one,’” muttered the lad as he fastened the bird to his belt; “hope ‘number two’ is not far off.”
“number two” was nearer than he imagined, for four other birds of the same kind rose a few yards ahead of him, with all the noise and flurry that is characteristic of the species.
they settled on a tree not far off, and looked about them.
“sit there, my fine fellows, till i come up,” muttered roy. (the lad had a habit of speaking to himself while out hunting.)
they obeyed the order, and sat until he was close to them. again was the blunt arrow fitted to the string; once more it sped true to its mark, and “number two” fell fluttering to the ground.
now, the grouse of north america is sometimes a very stupid creature. it literally sits still to be shot, if the hunter is only careful to fire first at the lowest bird of the group. if he were to fire at the topmost one, its fluttering down amongst the others would start them off.
roy was aware of this fact, and had aimed at the bird that sat lowest on the tree. another arrow was discharged, and “number three” lay sprawling on the ground. the blunt arrows being exhausted, he now tried a sharp one, but missed. the birds stretched their necks, turned their heads on one side, and looked at the lad, as though to say, “it won’t do,—try again!”
another shaft was more successful. it pierced the heart of “number four,” and brought it down like a lump of lead. “number five” seemed a little perplexed by this time, and made a motion as though it were about to fly off, but an arrow caught it in the throat, and cut short its intentions and its career. thus did roy bag, or rather belt, five birds consecutively. (see note one.)
our hero was not one of those civilised sportsmen who slaughter as much game as they can. he merely wanted to provide food for a day or two. he therefore turned his steps homeward—if we may be allowed the expression—being anxious to assist his sister in making the hut comfortable.
as he walked along, his active mind ran riot in many eccentric channels. those who take any interest in the study of mind, know that it is not only the mind of a romantic boy that does this, but that the mind of man generally is, when left to itself, the veriest acrobat, the most unaccountable harlequin, that ever leaped across the stage of fancy.
roy’s mind was now in the clouds, now on the earth. anon it was away in the far-off wilderness, or scampering through the settlements, and presently it was deep down in silver lake playing with the fish. roy himself muttered a word or so, now and then, as he walked along, which gave indication of the whereabouts of his mind at the time.
“capital fun,” said he, “only it won’t do to stay too long. poor mother, how she’ll be wearin’ for us! hallo! ducks, you’re noisy coons, wonder why you get up with such a bang. bang! that reminds me of the gun. no more banging of you, old chap, if my hand keeps in so well with the bow. eh! duck, what’s wrong?”
this latter question was addressed to a small duck which seemed in an anxious state of mind, to judge from its motions. presently a head, as if of a fish, broke the surface of the lake, and the duck disappeared!
“oh the villain,” exclaimed roy, “a fish has bolted him!”
after this the lad walked on in silence, looking at the ground, and evidently pondering deeply.
“nelly,” said he, entering the hut and throwing the grouse at her feet, “here is dinner, supper, and breakfast for you, and please get the first ready as fast as you can, for i’m famishing.”
“oh, how nice! how did you get them?”
“i’ll tell you presently, but my head’s full of a notion about catching ducks just now.”
“catching ducks, roy, what is the notion?”
“never mind, nelly, i han’t scratched it out o’ my brain yet, but i’ll tell ’ee after dinner, and we’ll try the plan to-morrow mornin’.”
note 1. the author has himself, in the backwoods, taken four birds in succession off a tree in this fashion with a fowling-piece.
