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6 (30) THE1
Our Boys
HOW JAMIE WENT HUNTING.
A VSTORY FOR YOUNG BOYS.
Crisp and clear beneath the January sun
sparkled a snow-white world. Little feathery
fringes clung to the branches of the trees, while
every bare brown bush was covered with the
daintiest of blossoms.
"To-diay's Saturday," said twelve-year-old
Rob at breakfast; "and I'm going hunting with
the Downey boys, I am. We are going over to
Davidson's woods. There's lots of game there
this year, and we'll come home with a sackful
of rabbitlu, see if we dou't."
"Let me go, too," said Jamie, hurring to put
on his cap and mittens. "I'll help you find 'em.
Rob."
"No," said Rob, quickly, "you're too little.
You couldn't keep up with us. 'Sides, you might
get lost. Anyway, we don't want you tagging
along."
He finished the Inst, nf his hnnlrwliwits i? tho
biggest kind of a hurry. Then he put on his
jacket, pulled the straps of his Christmas rifle
across one shoulder, By the time the Downey
boyt?, from across the way, were ready, he was
waiting at the gate.
Jamie watched them until they disappeared
around a turn in the road. Then, with lips that
quivered a little, he turned to his scattered playthings.
But just then the hall door swung open,
and in came Aunt Nell. She had on the pretty
brown furs grandpa gave her at Christmas, and
by the sparkle in her eyes. Jamie guessed something
pleasant was going to happen.
"Put on your leggins, .Jamie Boy," said she,
"and we'll go a-hunting, you and I. Perhaps
we'll be just as lucky as Rob."
"Oh, goody," said Jamie, wriggling into his
overcoat, "I'll hurry just as fas as anything."
And in a moment or two he shied a little mit
tened hand into Auntie Nell's.
"Now, Jamie," she said, as they went down a
path lending to a grove, "you and I are going to
hunt with our eyes and ears, instead of guns.
Up in the great forests of the north, where men
live by trapping, they read the newis of the animal
world by the marks on the snow. So keep
your eyes open."
Jamie walked on in silence for a moment or
two, but at last he pointed to some tiny, fairylike
foot-Drints cross in? their nath.
"Whose are those, Aunt Nell?" he asked.
"A field mouse's, I think," she answered,
"lie probably has a nest in one of those corn
shocks, and was going to visit his cousin in some
other part of the field. Let's follow and see what
happened to him."
For a rod or two, the tracks led straight on,
then they stopped abruptly under a tree. Here
the snow was much disturbed.
"Can you guess what happened, Jamie?" asked
Auntie Nell. "I think there must have been a
hawk watching him from this tree, who swooped
down and carried him off. See, here's the print
of wings and a few bright drops of blood."
"Porr little mousie," said Jamie. "Do you
s'pose his cousin knows where he went to,
auntie?"
"Maybe," she laughed. "Such things must
be very common in his family."
For awhile neither Jamie nor Auntie Nell
found anything of interest.. They crossed a trail
made by a pussy on her daily trips to the cornfield,
and saw where Rover had treed a squirrel.
Then Jamie pointed to a clump of bushes cuddled
close around a scrub oak.
PRESBYTERIAN OP THE S<
=il
and Girls
'' Look, look!" he cried. '* There is something
blue, and it's alive."
"A bird," she eaaid. "Oh,' Jamie, get it
quick."
He darted through the bushes, and presently
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his hands.
"A blue jay," she exclaimed, "and nearly
dead with cold and hunger. Let's hurry down
to the house, and see if we can't revive him."
She tucked the little fellow in the front of her
jacket, and put the soft fur over the poor cold
body. Then, hand in hand, she and Jamie raced
down the nath and into tliA kitM-ion
There, while Jamie held the shining beak open,
she poured warm milk down the bird's throat,
and tucked him up warmly in flannel. In a very
little while he was calling loudly for something
to eat. So Jamie fed him bread and milk until
he cuddled down contentedly.
By noon he was as lively as a cricket. He was
not the least bit afraid of anyone, and actually
seemed grateful for the food and warmth given
him.
Rob came back at dinner-time, tired, cold and
very hungry.
"What did you get, mv son!" asked papa.
"Nothing but an appetite," Rob answered,
buttering his fourth muffin.
"I went hunting, too," said Jamie, bristling
with importance. "And I found a blue jay.
Hp's crninct fn livo mifti no flio 4-iw.
? w >, J-, j-, ww ? ? v <* uo mu icoii U1 LI1U
winter."
"Well," said Rob, when Jamie finished his
story, "that's pretty good luck for a youngster
like you."
And Jamie thought so, too.?Pearl Howard
Campbell, in Young Churchman.
THE DUKE 0' KENT.
Kent hurried into his fur-lined coat and
crammed on his fur cap. If he could only get
there before the rest swarmed out in their
woolen coats and caps, before any one could
shout: "Here comes the Duke o' Kent. Make
way for the Duke o' Kent."
"If they call me that again?" The boy
ground his white teeth together in a little
spasm of rage.
Terence would be there, waiting. Oh, of
course, of course, Terence! He was always
there, sitting terribly straight behind his
horses or stooped over the steering-wheel or
straighten according to the demands of his
position as chaffeur or coachman.
Kent half wished it would be the car? no,
the horses?oh, what did it matter which, if
it had to be one or the other. He hated both.
All At. - 1--* ? -
.ah me not mtie neart ol him underneath the
fur coat fiercely rebelled.
Terence was waiting, and so was the swarm
of boys and girls. Reddy Barrett, in an overcoat
conspicuous for big, neat patches, was
ready with his shrill directions to his followers.
"Form in double line there, girls on one
side an' boys on t'other; don't you see he's
a-coming out? Make way for him! Open yer
line, an' let him pass between yer: make way
for the Duke o' Kent to pass."
Kent strode between the laughing lines in
a very frenzy of hurry to get it over with. He
looked neither to the right nor left; not for
worlds would he have looked toward the girls'
side especially. He got to the epd of his dread
little gamut at last, and leaped into the wait
0 U T H f January 15, 1913
ing car?it was the car this time. Even Terence
was laughing.
"Hurry, can't you? Oh, won't you speed her
up, Terry?" he besought in a low tone. "If
you come to school after me tomorrow, you've
got to come with a?wheel-barrow!"
Reddy's shrill call arrested thein as they
started away. He was waiving a strapful
of books.
"Hold on, your highness!" he called. Reddy
was not certain of the proper expression of
respect for dukes, but he would chance "your
highness." "Hold on: you've dropped your
highness' books. Here, Rosie, you take 'em
to him: you're the dressed-uppest one."
nosie was sweet and pink, like Her name.
Kent was in all lier classes, and liked her better
than any one else in his new school. It
was principally because he was afraid of seeing
Rosie laugh that he had not wanted to
look at the line of girls on his tortuous little
journey out to Terence.
"Here," Rosie said, reaching up with the
hooks; "you've dropped 'em most opposite
me. Wait, I want to say something else. Don't
?don't you go to feelin' bad because they
make fun. They'll get sick of it bime-by: an',
anyway, I didn't laugh."
"Honest?" Kent leaned out toward her
eagerly. If just one hadn't laughed, and that
one Rosie!
"No, I never: I'd be ashamed. Just because
you're rich, you ain't to blame."
The boy rode home, oddly comforted for being
rich. The sore spot under his fur coat had
been rubbed with the gentle salve of Rosie's
sympathy; he would wait and not speak to father
to-day. Perhaps by to-morrow they would
pot sick of it.
But for many to-morrows they continued to
play their little jeering comedy whenever Kent
appeared after school, with Terence there
waiting, and Terence was always there. At
recess, one day, Rosie sought out Kent, and
offered a bit of advice.
"Why don't you walk home, Kent, same as
we all dot Tell that coachman not to come
after you; that's what sets Reddy to goin'.
An' the rest'11 do anything Reddy tells 'em
to."
a cam," j\ent replied, sadly. "Don't you
s'pose I'd crawl rather'n ride, if I could?"
Her eyes sought his straight, strong little
legs; they looked able to walk from the schoolhouse
to the "Palace," as Reddy called Kent's
great and splendid house.
"You don't look lame."
"I ain't. I could beat Reddy Barrett runnin'
any ole day. I can jump: I've got a
vaultin'-place in my back yard. I can beat
my father vaultin'."
"Gracious! Then what makes you let that
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atf"
Kent's flushed face took on a curious tenderness
that made it look like the face father
kept in the little velvet frame with doors to
it on his writing-table. That face was always
tender.
"I?I guess I can't explain so very well,
Rosie: it's too kind of secret." He meant
"personal." How could he tell her that it was
"because father liked to have Terence come for
him, and he could not bear to trouble father
now, when his face was alwavs so bad hpomiaA
of having only that tender face in the closed
frame left of mother T
Kent was all his father had now, Mother had
died just before they came to his new home,
he and father. It was because she died that
they had come. They had the big, fine house
all to themselves, except for the servants. Father
sat all day at his table, writing hard to
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