“I don’t care, I’ll try it, just to satisfy myself,” replied Oscar.

Oscar was right in regard to bending wood.  The hooked-top walking-sticks are made in the way he described,—­by boiling the end, and then bending it into an arch.  In boiling wood, several substances which enter into its composition are dissolved, and others are softened, so that it is rendered flexible.

The boys trudged slowly on their way, now aided by their canes, which, in a long walk, are of no slight service to the pedestrian.  As they sauntered along, chatting, singing, and whistling, as merrily as the birds around them, Oscar remembered the cigars he bought at the store, and soon the pure atmosphere of the fields was polluted with the vile odor of bad tobacco.  Oscar had been in the habit of smoking occasionally for some time; but though he considered it a manly accomplishment, he was very careful not to let his parents know that he was addicted to it.  He prevailed upon his cousin to take a cigar; but Jerry was not very partial to tobacco, and a few whiffs satisfied him for that occasion.

They had now reached the foot of the long, steep hills, over which they must climb.  These hills were thickly wooded most of the way, forming beautiful groves, cool, dark, fragrant with resinous odors, and softly carpeted with moss and decayed leaves.  Oscar and Jerry concluded to rest a few minutes before scaling the hills.  Selecting a favorable spot, they stretched themselves at full length upon the ground, and looked up towards the distant tree-tops.  It was a pine forest, and the trees were as straight as an arrow, and so tall that their tops almost seemed among the clouds.  The moaning of the wind among the topmost branches sounded like the distant roar of the sea.  Birds were skipping merrily among the “tasselled boughs,” and curiously eying the young strangers who had invaded their solitude.

“O, how I wish I had that gun now!” said Oscar, as a fine plump robin lit on one of the lower branches of a tree right over his head.

In repay for this generous wish, Signor Robin executed one of his choicest songs in his handsomest style, and, without waiting for an encore from his audience, darted off and was quickly out of sight.  But it is probable the audience thought more of the “good shot” he presented, than of the sweet strains he poured forth for their entertainment.

“There’s better game than that in these woods,” said Jerry, after the robin had taken his departure.

“Is there anything besides birds?” inquired Oscar.

“Yes,” replied Jerry, “there are rabbits, and woodchucks, and weasels, and skunks, and squirrels; and some folks say there are wild-cats here, but I don’t know about that.  Jim Oakley, a fellow who lives about a mile from our house, comes over here gunning very often; and he says he saw a real savage-looking creature here, a few weeks ago, that he took to be a wild-cat.  He fired at it, but it got clear of him.  He says it looked a good deal like a cat, only it was larger, and had a little short tail.  I wish he ’d killed it.  I should like to know what it was.  I never saw a wild-cat; did you?”