a hole, and acted as if there was a mink in there; and, you know, we didn’t believe there was, but we thought we could stop and see.  So we cut a hole in the stub, and, sure enough, there was a mink, and, as good luck would have it, we had cut the hole close to the place where he was, and we thought we had him sure; and, while Harry Butler went to cut a stick to kill him with, I chopped the hole a little larger, so that we could see him plainer, when, all of a sudden, out popped the mink, and, before we could say ‘scat,’ it was under the ice.”

“Yes,” said Frank, “I remember it very well; and, I guess, there were some mad boys around that place, somewhere.”

“Yes,” said Archie, “I was provoked because it was all my fault that we lost him.  If we had had this spear, we could have killed him easy enough.  We wouldn’t be obliged to cut a hole larger than an inch square, and no mink I ever saw could get through that.  And this,” he continued, taking up the other instrument, “is a muskrat-spear.  The way to proceed is this:  Go to a muskrat’s house, and, with an ax, cut a chunk out of the top, directly over where they sleep.”

“And, by the time you get that done,” said Frank, with a laugh, “the muskrats will be out of your way.”

“I know that; they will undoubtedly start off the first blow you strike, and swim to some breathing-hole; but in a quarter of an hour they will be sure to return.  While they are gone, you will have plenty of time to cut the chunk, and, after taking it out, place it carefully back, in such a manner that it can be removed instantly; then, if there are any other houses near, serve them in the same way.  Then, in half an hour or so, take your spear and go to the houses, making as little noise at possible, and let your companion lift out the chunk suddenly, and you be ready to strike.  Father says he has seen Uncle Joe Lewis catch half a dozen in one house, in this way, very frequently.  He always spears the one nearest the passage that leads from the house down into the water, and this will prevent the others from escaping.”

“I don’t much like the idea,” said Frank.

“Neither do I,” said Archie.  “It will do well enough for those who make their living by hunting; but, if I want to hunt muskrats, I would rather wait until the ice breaks up, in spring; I can then shoot them quite fast enough to suit me, and the sport is more exciting.”

One morning, about a week after Archie’s arrival, they arose, as usual, very early, and, while they were dressing, Frank drew aside the curtain, and looked out.

“I say, Archie,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got your wish; it’s a first-rate morning to go trout-fishing.”

Archie had been waiting impatiently for a cloudy day; he was very fond of trout-fishing, and he readily agreed to his cousin’s proposal to “take a trip to Dungeon Brook,” and they commenced pulling on their “hunting and fishing rig,” as they called it, which consisted of a pair of stout pantaloons that would resist water and dirt to the last extremity, heavy boots reaching above their knees, and a blue flannel shirt.