READER, are you tired of Godfrey Evans and his dismal surroundings? If you are, let us go up to General Gordon’s, where we shall be sure of a hearty welcome and more agreeable companionship.

The house in which the general and his family now live does not look much like the noble mansion they called home a few years ago; but it is very neat and comfortable, and there is always room enough under its hospitable roof to accommodate visitors, who are greeted and entertained in good old southern style. It stands on the spot where the old house stood, and in the midst of extensive grounds, which a few years ago looked like a tropical garden. They still retain some of their old-time beauty, but yet wear an air of neglect; and many of the rare and valuable plants, which Mrs. Gordon and her daughters took so much pride in cultivating and protecting from the fury of the winter rains and sleets, have perished for want of care, and have not been[Pg 91] replaced. On one side the grounds slope down to the shores of Diamond lake—a little sheet of water about four miles long and half a mile wide, surrounded on three sides by a dense forest of tall trees, so heavily draped with climbing plants, mosses and grape-vines, that to a person seated in a boat in the middle of the lake, it would seem to be almost impenetrable.

This lake is not like our northern lakes. The gravelly beach is wanting, and so are the black bass, the pickerel and other fine game fish that we find in our waters. The shores are low and muddy, the banks are thickly lined with snags, stumps and trees, and a northern boy would look twice at the dark, slimy water before he would think of going in bathing there. If he made up his mind to venture, he might think better of it if, while he was looking around for a log to put his clothes on, he should discover a large moccasin curled up in the edge of the water, and closely watching all his movements. Are these snakes poisonous? Ask Don and Bert what they think about it. They will tell you that one day last August, while they were sitting on the little wooden wharf, which juts out into the lake below the summer house, bobbing for sun-fish, they happened to look into the water a little way from the shore, and saw[Pg 92] what appeared to be the head and neck of a goose moving rapidly along. But they knew it was not that, for summer is not the time for waterfowl down here, and besides a goose does not swim with his body submerged. It was a moccasin, and he was directing his course toward a log which lay in the water about twenty yards from the wharf. The boys knew he was a big one, or he could not have held his head so high above the water; but they were amazed at the sight of the bulk he presented to view when, reaching the log, he drew himself upon it, and stretched out flat preparatory to taking his afternoon nap. The longer the boys looked at him, the more their astonishment increased; and at last Don quietly laid down his fish-pole, and requesting his brother to keep an eye on the reptile, arose and stole off to the house. When he returned he carried a light breech-loading shot gun in his hands—one of those weapons that “break in two in the middle.” Both barrels were loaded, and Don had two more cartridges in his pocket for use in case the first should not prove effectual.

The moccasin lay in such a position that Don could not see his head; so he took a hasty aim at the thickest part of his body, and fired both barrels in[Pg 93] quick succession. He was so surprised at the effect of his shot that he did not think of the cartridges he had in his pocket. The moccasin was not killed, but he was so badly wounded that he could not get off the log.

“The end his head was on was lively enough,” Don afterward told his father, “and whirled around at a great rate; but the end his tail was on seemed to be completely paralyzed, for it did not move at all.” He made the most desperate efforts to crawl off into the water, and failing in that, turned and bit himself twice, and a moment afterward was dead.

Don leaned on his breech-loader and looked at his brother. “That settles two things, Bert,” said he. “One is that we have all been mistaken in supposing that moccasins are not poisonous; and the second is, that one must not put implicit faith in everything he sees in books. Only yesterday I was reading in my natural history that a scorpion, ‘if surrounded by a circle of fire so that it cannot escape, will turn and sting itself through the head, this being the only companion of man in suicide.’ This little incident proves that man has other companions in suicide, doesn’t it?”

Besides these disagreeable and dangerous inhabitants[Pg 94] of the lake, there are others in the shape of alligator-gars and turtles. The latter have bills like parrots, and grow so large and heavy that it takes two men to lift one of them. A gar is a long, slender fish, and but for its color, might be taken for a gigantic pickerel. It is sometimes found eight feet in length. People say they are harmless, but a timid person would not care to trust one too far after looking at its mouthful of teeth.

The boys have two canoes and one sail-boat in the lake. The boat was built in St. Louis, and a steamer brought it to the landing, where Don and Bert took charge of it and navigated it to the wharf by way of the Pass, which connects the lake with the river. This Pass was for a long time blocked up by a levee to keep the waters of the river from overflowing the low lands about the lake. During the war it was cut by the union forces, and the gunboats came down through the lake and entered Coldwater and Tallahatchee rivers, in the effort to get behind the strong fortifications at Haines’s Bluff.

Although the lake is but a poor fishing ground, it is a splendid place for ducks and geese. About a mile from the house, on the river side of the lake, is a long, narrow point, which stretches almost across to[Pg 95] the opposite bank, and it is there that the best shooting is to be found. As it belongs to their father the boys have taken possession of it, and on the highest and dryest part, erected a rough board cabin which goes by the name of “Our Shooting-box.” It looks dreary enough in summer, with only a rusty stove and a few empty cupboards in it by way of furniture; but when the “melancholy days” are come, and the leaves begin to fall, and the autumnal winds to whistle dismally through the branches of the forest—when the trumpet-like notes of the first returning flock of brant are heard, then the shooting-box opens wide its hospitable door, and receives beneath the shelter of its roof a company of merry youngsters, who yearly congregate here to enjoy the splendid shooting the lake affords. Then the bare floor is covered with comfortable rugs, and there are camp chairs and lounges enough to accommodate all the young sportsmen who can crawl into the cabin. Then the cupboards are abundantly supplied with dishes, knives, forks and other table furniture, and everything in the way of provisions that hungry boys can ask for; and in the loft, which extends over half the room, are always to be found a barrel or two of hickory nuts, butternuts and pecans. And what[Pg 96] sport the boys enjoy here in these days! A person who has once taken part in it, will willingly go a hundred miles to have more of it. The shooting is all done over decoys. These decoys are pieces of light wood shaped like ducks and geese, and painted to resemble them. And that they do resemble the natural bird very closely, is proved by the fact that more than one hunter has emptied his double-barrel into a flock of decoys and never discovered his mistake, until the disgusted owner of the wooden birds jumped up from behind his blind and demanded to know what he was about.

These decoys are anchored off the point of which we have spoken, and Don and Bert, and the rest of the young hunters, hide behind their blinds—little breastworks of bushes erected on shore—and with their guns in their hands, hold themselves in readiness to shoot at the first flock that comes within range. And they are never obliged to wait long. The wild fowl, in passing from one end of the lake to the other, discover what they suppose to be a company of their friends swimming in perfect security near the shore, and stop to pay them a visit; but just as they swing to the decoys, their ranks are decimated by the double-barrels, and it is a lucky[Pg 97] flock that gets off without leaving a dozen or more of its number behind. The birds being gone, Don’s pointers, which are crouching behind the blind by their master’s side, retrieve the dead and wounded in the most approved style; and when they are all brought in the boys are ready for another flock. When night comes they are sure to be very tired and hungry, and to have as many birds as they care to carry home. They are equally certain to find a smoking supper waiting for them on their arrival at the shooting-box, and old Cuff ready to receive them with open arms.

During the evening they fight their battles over again—telling of that fine shot made at such a distance that a miss seemed certain, or that clear miss made when the bird ought to have been easily brought to bag—and at last go to bed to pass through the same exciting scenes again in their dreams. We do not blame Don and his friends for thinking a good deal of that little shooting-box, for we passed one of the pleasantest months of our life there.

Having seen the grounds and glanced at all the interesting things outside the house, let us go in for a few minutes. The wide front door stands invitingly[Pg 98] open—there is no danger to be apprehended from tramps and sneak-thieves in this out-of-the-way place—and being well acquainted with all the inmates, and feeling quite at home here, we enter without ceremony. Passing along the hall and turning to the left we find a second door, also standing open, and this leads us into the apartment occupied by Don and his brother as a sitting and school room. They study and recite their lessons here, and when their school duties are over, they have the room to themselves. It is neatly furnished, and in it are many of those things which Dan Evans seems to regard as indispensable aids to happiness. Of course he does not include books and papers in the list, but we think they are very necessary, and so do Don and Bert. Their library is small but well chosen, and made up almost entirely of books from which they can learn something.

We enter the room on the afternoon of the same day on which Dan Evans came over to ask for five of the ten dollars that Don had promised David for field-breaking his young pointer. We have seen that he got the money, and that he went away leaving Bert reading a book. We find him engaged in the same pleasing occupation. He reads for a few minutes,[Pg 99] and then placing the book on his knee, gazes thoughtfully out at the trees in the yard.

“I don’t see why it can’t be done,” he says, to himself. “Father has a light spring wagon that I know he would let us take, and we have two good ponies to draw it. We couldn’t put up at a hotel while we are gone, but who cares for that? We own a good tent, and if we should take old Cuff along to act as cook and camp-keeper, we could live as well as we do at home or at the shooting-box.”

The book Bert has been reading, and which suggests this train of thought, is Frank Forester’s “Deer Stalkers.” It tells how Harry Archer and two companions went on a deer hunt somewhere in the state of New York, and how they enjoyed themselves. It is one of Don’s favorite books; and the reason Bert reads it to-day is because it happened to be the first one he picked up when he came into the room. While he read the thought occurred to him that if he and his brother should follow in the lead of the heroes of the book, they could spend a few days very pleasantly. They had everything needful for a week’s sojourn in the woods, or a month’s, and a trip like that would just suit Don. Their school term would be over in a week—their tutor was going north[Pg 100] to spend the holidays with his friends—and Don, who had grown very fond of him and of his books, wondered how he was going to pass the time during his absence. Of course there was the shooting-box, but one does not care to spend two whole months in duck hunting, and Don had often been heard to declare that he wished he could go somewhere and spend a week as he had never spent one before. Bert thought he had hit upon something that would please him. He had heard wonderful reports of late of the abundance of game to be found in an adjoining county, forty miles away. Deer were so plenty that they had been seen in the corn-fields; a bear had been known to approach a lonely farm house in broad daylight and walk off with a pig; and one day a hunter, who was roaming the woods with his pack of hounds, encountered some animal in a dense cane-brake which almost annihilated his dogs, and made off before the hunter could shoot him. The man did not know what sort of an animal it was, for the cane was so thick that he could not see him; but there was only one thing in that part of the country that could whip out a pack of hounds so easily and completely, and that was a panther. Bert did not like the idea of encountering such game as this, but Don[Pg 101] would not have hesitated a minute. Besides being famous as a wing shot, and being very fond of the breech-loader which created such havoc among the ducks, snipe and quails, he took care to have it known that he had bagged nobler game; and when he exhibited the old-fashioned muzzle loading rifle which his father had given him, and with which he had brought down his first deer, he never forgot to mention that four very fine bucks and one two year old bear had fallen to that same gun.

“Don would make a capital Harry Archer,” said Bert, continuing the soliloquy we have interrupted, “he is so fearless and enthusiastic. Old Cuff would make a very good Jim Matlock—he’s black, but still he’ll do—and instead of Smoke, the Scotch greyhound that could perform such wonders in the way of running and pulling down deer, we shall have, if we have a mind to take them with us, six of the best hounds that ever came from Kentucky. There’ll be nothing wanting, unless it be a Harry Barhyte or a Ned Wheeler to get us into some sort of a scrape. If they should turn up, it would make it all the more interesting for Don. The thought of meeting one of the panthers, which they say are plenty in the cane-brakes, is not a very pleasant one, and almost makes[Pg 102] me say that I will stay at home; but, now that I come to think of it, we need not camp out an hour unless we please. Bob Harrington lives over there, in the very midst of the wilderness, and we’d be welcome at his house as long as we chose to stop with him. Halloa!” he added aloud, as a step was heard in the hall, and his brother came rapidly into the room. “I was just thinking about you.”

“You’re always thinking of somebody besides yourself,” replied Don, drawing a chair to his brother’s side and flourishing a letter which he held in his hand. “Your face tells me that you have something pleasant on your mind: what is it? Let us have all the sunshine we can, for the clouds are coming—one cloud at least.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Bert, who thought by the scowl on his brother’s face that the clouds had come already, “and whom is that letter from?”

“Let us have the good news first,” replied Don, putting the letter behind his chair, as his brother reached out his hand to take it. “This will keep.”

“So will the other; but since you are so determined, I suppose I shall have to tell you. When our tutor goes away next week we shall have two whole months to ourselves, and instead of spending[Pg 103] all the time at the shooting-box, I propose that some fine morning we put the ponies to the spring wagon, take our tent, one of our canoes and everything else we need for camping out, and spend a week or so on Coldwater.”

“Among the deer and bears!” exclaimed Don. “That would be just the idea, if we could only carry it out.”

“And why can’t we carry it out?”

“Because we are not going to have those two months all to ourselves; and besides, one of the two fellows who is about to intrude his most unwelcome presence upon us, is not such a boy as we should like to have in our camp.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bert.

“I can best answer that question by reading a portion of this letter,” replied Don. “It came more than a week ago. Father and mother have consulted about it, and have finally consented, most reluctantly, to accept the proposition it contains. I am afraid it was a bad day for us when they did so. Our fun is all knocked in the head. In the first place the letter is from Uncle Bob, and relates to our cousins, Clarence and Marshall Gordon.”

[Pg 104]“Are they coming here?” asked Bert, his face brightening with joyous anticipation.

Don looked sharply at his brother for a minute or two before he spoke. “Yes, they’re coming,” said he. “I don’t know what you may think about it, but I am sorry; and so are father and mother.”

“Then why do they let them come?”

“Because they can’t help it. Father is under heavy obligations to Uncle Bob, who has done him numberless good turns, and he says he can’t well refuse to grant this, the only favor that Uncle Bob has ever asked of him.”

“But why don’t they want Clarence and Marshall here?” asked Bert, who could not see why his parents should object to the visit of relatives whom he and his brother had not seen for many years—so many, in fact, that he could not remember of ever having met them at all. They (that is, Clarence and Marshall) had always lived with their parents in Europe; and it was only about a year ago that they had taken up their abode in a northern city where their father was engaged in business.

“This will explain everything,” said Don; and as he spoke, he settled back in his chair and opened the letter.