The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1898-04-16


where there was ditch leading from
the woods down by the side Of fence,
Morning after morning the bait disap
peared.
One foggy morning, about a week or
two after he first commenced TO bait,
Tom rose early and went down to the
woods at the end of the ditch. Day was
just breaking, but IT was too dark to tell
whether the geese were in the field or
not. Besides, damp, chilly fog lay
close to the ground all along the banks
of the river, making 1t impossible to dis
Germ objects on the ground further than
yard or two away.
Tom resolved to crawl down the ditch
quietly and wait for the rising of the
sun. Quietly and stealthily he crept
along, making no noise, and stopping
now and then to listen. For a time he
heard nothing, except the growing OF
ROSTERS in distant barnyards.
Before he got half way. however. he
heard that familiar "honlk." and knew
that the geese were somewhere about
the field. Fearing lest the dampness
had affected the cap on his musket, he
replaced it with fresh one, keeping
his hand over the lock as he stole along.
When he had reached the end of the
ditch successfully, without making
noise, he lay, fiat on the ditch bank,
straining his eyes out toward the field;
but, although the sun was just sending
out the first golden blazes Of fire in
the east, the fog lay so close to the
ground that he could see nothing.
He kept himself well hid, and waited.
In short time light breeze sprang
up from the river and sent the fog sour
rying away, and when Tom peeped
cautiously over the ditch bank for the
third time. he saw great flock OF
blackish-gray bodied geese, feeding
right out in front of him. Tom rose,
with a heart beating like trip ham
mer; but, before he could get his mus
ket steady for shot, his old enemy,
the watch-goose, saw him, and. with a
great cry of warning, the flock rose
in the air, in wild confusion.
Tom was not to be disappointed this
time, and, as the flock rose up, he ran
quickly forward, and, selecting one Of
the hlndmoSt geese, nreu.
The report of the old gun echoed and
revcrberated along the river shore, and
the goose, faltering in his flight, pitched
forward and fell heavily to the ground.
With whoop of exultation, Tom
erasped the long gun by the middle
and sped forward to where his prize
lay. When he picked him up he could
not refrain from waving his cap and
giving three hearty huzzas.
MY, isn't that nice, fat fellow!"
said Tom, as he gloatingly ran his fin
gers through the downy feathers of the
goose. Wont mother have fine job
eating this fellow, just as he isl"
CHANGING back to the place where he
fired the shot, he exclaimed:
"Gracious! | believe that is the long
est shot | ever made. That must be at
least so or 90 yards"
1t was a wonderful shot, he thought,
and, laying the goose down, he stepped
off the distance carefully to the exact
spot where he stood when he fired.
"Seyenty-six steps exactly" he said,
rs he turned on his heel, in perfect con-
tentment.
He had scarcely started to retrace his
steps. before plaintive "honk" caused
dim to look up terrified. In an instant,
Ihis cup of happiness waiturned to bit
ter gall.
His goose-the goose on which de-
pended his new gun-on which depend
cd his long-sought satisfaction, was ris-
ing unsteadily and slowly winging his
way OFF to the north, with feeble
monks"
His gun was on the ground, unloaded,
right at the spot where he had placed
the goose. Like some one bereft of
reason, he tore down to the spot and
picked up the gun, but, realizing that
it would be useless now to try to load
in time to shoot again, he burst into
tears and watched the goose through
his quivering eyelids, until he became
blurred speck over the dark pine woods.
Tom thought that he wavered and
fell again, away over in the woods; but
he never found him. The goose was
probably stunned by the shot and the
heavy fall, and had recovered while
Tom was stepping off the distance OF
the shot.
Perhaps no boy ever felt more disap-
pointed and wretched than Tom did as
he went back home that morning. He
told his story, and, though his mother
felt too sorry for the little fellow to
laugh, the others did noe have such
scruples, and laughed until most of
Toms sorrow was chased away.
Tom received his new gun in time,
as his father had really intended to do
whether he bagged the goose or not;
but he says the next time he kills a
goose he will see that his neck is we'll
wrung before he undertakes to meas
Ire the distance of his long shot,
Golden Days.
Melancholy wit.
That laughter is by no means an in
fallible symptom of merry heart is
proven by the story of Carlini, at one