The first winter after the Allen family moved to their new home on the Necedah river was unusually severe and long. While in that section of Wisconsin deep snows were not uncommon, this year they had started in about the middle of October, and by Christmas lay piled in great drifts, like small hills, in places, while on the level even the top rail of the “stake-and-rider” fence about the buildings was covered, and over which the boys, Rob and Ed, hauled loads of hay in their sleds. Between the house and stable there was one huge drift, higher than either building, through which the boys cut a tunnel large enough to drive through with their team of steers and bob-sled.
Uncle Sam Thompson, who was wise in the ways of weather, prophesied a spring flood that would sweep away the fences and come up into the houses; and, indeed, such a flood did occur a few years later, but this year the winter held on so late into the spring, and the snows melted away so slowly and gradually, that the feared high water did not come.
The Allen boys were initiated into a new and delightful experience in the latter days of March. Warm days would be followed by freezing nights, which, Uncle Sam declared, were ideal “sap” conditions.
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 Hundreds of great maple trees lined the river, and while they were not of the “rock,” or regular sugar variety, but the “soft” maple, yet the sap held enough of sweet to yield a fair amount of sugar.
To less sturdy youths the trudging through melting snow and wading in icy water would have been accounted anything but a pastime, but the Allen boys and their chum, Dauphin Thompson, worked at the sugar making with zeal and zest. Uncle Sam showed them how to “tap” the trees. First, a hole would be bored into the tree trunk with an inch augur, then a V-shaped notch would be cut through the bark just above it. Into the augur hole would be driven a “spile,” or piece of grooved wood, down which the sap from the V-shaped cut would run. At the foot of the tree, under the spout, would be placed a wooden trough, hollowed out from a block of the light linden, or “basswood.”
To carry the sap home to the big kettles which were kept constantly boiling, reducing the thin sap to syrup, and finally “sugaring off” into the delectable sweet cakes, a yoke of ash was made fitting over the shoulders, with projecting ends. To these ends were attached ropes which were fastened each to a large bucket. These buckets the boys would fill with sap from the trees, and from the farthest point, trudge home a mile through water and melting snow. It was no easy play, and aching backs and limbs severely tested their courage, yet the boys felt amply repaid for it all in the two hundred pounds of cakes of the
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 delicious sweet they thus harvested during the two weeks of the “run.”
By the time the sugar harvest was over, wild ducks had begun to appear, and the lagoons and deep places in the marshes were noisy at night and early morning with their quacking. While most of the wild fowl passed on to their summer home in the lake region of Canada, some of the ducks built their nests and reared their young in the marshes and along the rivers of that section. Among these were the mallards, large, beautiful birds.
The boys had frequently noticed a pair of these ducks at Round Slough in the latter days of their sap gathering, and had planned to hunt for the nest and secure the eggs which they proposed to place for hatching under a hen. Mrs. Thompson had told the boys that she had known the mallards to be domesticated when hatched away from the wild mother, but care had to be taken to keep them confined at migrating-time in the fall, else they would try to follow off their wild cousins as they flew over.
Spring work pressed so heavily that the boys did not get to visit Round Slough until in May, when one bright day came with the coveted vacation. The slough was back from the river perhaps a quarter of a mile. It was several rods in diameter, of great depth, and perfectly round. The banks were high and sloped away from the hole, as well as toward the water. No trees were growing near the edge, but the sides of the
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 rim were covered with “blue-joint” grass already waist high.
The boys approached the slough cautiously. “There they are,” whispered Dauphin. “But see what the old ducks have.” For, sporting in the water, standing on their heads, waving their funny, big feet in the air, and chasing water bugs, were a dozen downy, yellow ducklings.
“Let’s drive them to land and catch them,” said Ed.
So the boys dashed up to the water’s edge and began to throw in sticks and to “shoo.” The father duck flew away, but the mother kept with her babies and paddled to the other side.
“I’ll watch this side and keep up the fuss,” said Rob, “and you boys can run around and catch them in the grass. You see just where they went out.”
“Why, there they are,” called Dauphin, “away over on that side.” And sure enough, there were the mother duck and her babies skirting the bank, in the water again. Time and again the boys chased the little family from the slough, only to lose sight of them entirely “just where they went out.” The boys were separated now on three sides of the slough, when suddenly there was a great splash in the water and a doe came swimming across, making, as the boy thought, straight for Rob. A deer is no mean antagonist, and Rob scrambled out of the way, while the animal went crashing through the bushes.
Over where Dauphin had been there was a great
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 threshing about in the grass, and a boy’s voice shouting, “Help! help! come quick.” Ed and Rob hurried around the slough, and there was Dauphin trying to hold down a young fawn which was making desperate efforts to escape. But for the arrival of the other boys it might have succeeded in tumbling Dauphin into the deep water. The three boys easily handled the little creature, but Rob’s hand bore the imprint of one of its sharp hoofs for many a day.
“I almost stumbled over the old deer,” said Dauphin, “and I never would have discovered this little chap if I hadn’t fallen over him. However did they manage to hide so well and keep so still while we were running all about them?”
The fawn, which was probably two weeks old, was “all legs,” as the Allen boys expressed it. The back of his brown coat was flecked with spots of white, while his under parts were pure white. Tying both his front and hind legs with their handkerchiefs, the boys took turns in carrying their new pet home, where they soon succeeded in teaching it to drink milk. When it was caught it could easily run about under the kitchen table, but it throve and grew so rapidly and became so boisterous in its manifestations of friendship, that, in a few weeks, Mrs. Thompson declared it had outgrown its place of household pet.
The boys built a pen of rails, and cut fresh grass for it every day, and later in the season at the advice of Mr. Thompson, added the twigs of the poplar or aspen to its diet. They would cut down a young tree
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 and stand it in the corner of the pen. When the fawn had nibbled all the tender twigs from the lower limbs he would rise upon his hind legs and walk about the tree on two feet, browsing from the higher branches, just as though that was the natural way for a deer to get about, as indeed it was in a situation of that kind.
As the fall approached the young deer began to lose his spotted coat of brown, and take on a winter suit of grey. Little hard knobs could be felt on his head where the “spikes,” or one-prong horns would appear the following months. Like a rapidly developing boy he began to take on “manish” ways, and to show an intention of “seeing the world.” Although the boys increased the height of his pen to ten rails, even that would not hold him when the desire to roam came too strongly upon him.
On one of these occasions, when the boys had missed him from the pen, they came across him a quarter of a mile away in the meadow, acting in a peculiar manner. Long before they reached him they could hear his angry snorts and could see the hair along the ridge of his back sticking up like quills upon a porcupine. The young deer was dancing around in a circle, face toward the center, now advancing, now springing quickly back, all the time his eyes fixed upon one spot. Just as the boys were drawing near he gave a spring into the air, and, bunching his four feet together, came down like a bolt out of the sky. The stroke was evidently effective, for on the ground was the writhing threshing body of a huge black rattlesnake,
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 the dreaded massasauger, with head severed from the body as cleanly as if cut with a knife. The sharp hoofs had done quick and sure execution.
Unable to keep the deer in confinement as he would grow larger the boys disposed of him for a good sum to a collector for an eastern city park.