Saying which, he threw both bird and fish into the canoe, and darted forward on the river again.

“When shall we reach the deer feeding-ground you spoke of, Micah?”

“O! not afore night”, said Micah.  “And then we mustn’t go anyst it till mornin’”.

“I suppose you have brought down some scores of deer in your hunting raids, Micah?”

“Why, yes,—­takin’ it by and large, I’ve handled over consid’able many of ’em.  ‘Tis a critter I hate to kill, Captin’, though I s’pose it seounds soft to say so.  Ef ‘t wan’t for thinkin’ they’ll git picked off, anyway, I dunno but I should let ’em alone altogether”.

“Why do you dislike to kill them?”

“Well, to begin with, they’re a harnsum critter.  They hev sech graceful ways with ’em, kinder grand ones tew, specially them bucks, with their crests reared up agin the sky, lookin’ so bold and free like.  And them bright little does,—­sometimes they hev sech a skeerd, tender look in their eyes,—­and I’ve seen the tears roll out on ’em, when they lay wounded and disabled like, jest like a human critter.  It allers makes me feel kind o’ puggetty to see that”.

They made a noon halt, in the shadows cast by a clump of silver birches, and did ample justice to the provision supplied from the pantry of the Dubois house.

At four o’clock they proceeded onward towards the deer hunt.  John listened with unwearied interest to Micah’s stories of peril and hair-breadth ’scapes, by flood, field, and forest, gathering many valuable hints in the science of woodcraft from the practised hunter.

Just at dark, they reached a broad part of the stream, and selected their camping-ground.

The tent was soon pitched, a fire of brushwood kindled and the salmon broiled to a relish that an epicure could not have cavilled at.  The table, a flat rock, was also garnished with white French rolls, sliced ham, brown bread, blocks of savory cheese, and tea, smoking hot.

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”.