“But I ’ll be very careful if you ’ll let me have it,” added Oscar.  “I ’ve fired a gun several times, and know how to handle it.”

“No, I think you had better not carry the gun with you,” replied his uncle.  “If you used it, Jerry would think he must, and I know he is too careless to be trusted with it.  He ’d shoot you, just as like as not, if he did n’t kill himself.”

Mr. Preston’s tone was so decided, that Oscar saw it would be useless to say anything more about the gun, and so he and Jerry were obliged to abandon the idea of taking it with them.  Taking their basket of provisions, they accordingly set out on their long tramp.  Leaving the road, and turning into a footpath through the fields, they passed close by the upper edge of the pond.  In this part of their walk there was a good deal of swamp land, and a number of brooks to cross.  Sometimes they had to pick their way along upon stones which had been placed at regular intervals in wet places, or upon old logs that served for bridges; and at times it required no little skill in balancing to avoid getting a wet foot.  After they had got beyond the pond, however, the land gradually ascended, and was mostly occupied as pastures for cattle.  But they still occasionally came to a brook, flowing down from the hills towards the pond.  Most of them were so narrow, they could easily jump over them; but in one instance they were obliged to take off their shoes and stockings and wade across.

“Now you see why this place is called Brookdale,” said Jerry, after they had passed four or five of these little streams.

“Is that the reason, because there are so many brooks?  I never thought of that before,” said Oscar.

“Yes, that’s it,” replied Jerry.  “In the spring these brooks make quite a show; but they get low in the summer, and generally dry up in August, unless it’s a very wet season.”

“I ’m going to cut me a cane,” said Oscar, taking out his knife; “I see a real straight and handsome one in there,” and he pointed to a thicket they were approaching.

“That’s nothing but birch—­that won’t make a good cane,” replied Jerry; “stop a minute, and I ’ll find you something better.”

After looking about a little, Jerry found some beeches, which he said would make good canes.  They accordingly cut two of the straightest and handsomest.

“I mean to try an experiment with mine,” said Oscar, “and see if I can’t crook the top of it.  Do you know how they do it, Jerry?”

“No, I always thought they grew in that shape,” replied Jerry.

“A man told me they boiled the end of the stick and then bent it,” said Oscar.  “He said that was the way all the hooked canes were made.  I don’t know whether he knew or not, but I mean to try it some day, and see how it works.”

“I don’t believe in that,” said Jerry.  “It is n’t very likely you can bend such a stick as that without breaking it; just see how stiff it is.”