Waterbury evening Democrat., 1905-01-12
CHAPTER I.

but, so far as'I know, he is ever the worst of fathers. Even as grand E father he is too near for one poet can
 lay a streak of poverty over three gen.
 erations. Doubt not l know whereof l
 speak, dear reader, for my mothers
 father was poet-a French poet, too,
 whose lines had crossed the Atlantic
 long before that summer of l770 when
 he came to Montreal. He died there,
 leaving only debts and those who had
 great need of a better legacy-my
 mother and grandmother.
 As to my father, he had none Of that fatal folly in him. He was a mountaineer of Vermont-a man of 6teely sinews that took well to the grip of a sword. He cut his way to fame in the northern army when the British came first to give us battle, and a bloody way it was. have now faded letter from Ethan Allen. grim old war
 rior, in which he calls my father the best swordsman that ever straddled a horse He was "Gallous chap in his youth, so said my grandmother, with a great love of good clothes and gunpowder. He went to Montreal. as . boy, to be educated took lessons in fencing. fought duel, ran away from school, and came home with little learning and wife. Punished by dis Inheritance, he took a farm, and left the blow to go into battle.
 wonder often that my mother could put up with the stress and hardship of his life. for she had had gentle breeding, of which I knew little until I was grown to manhood. when I came to know also what woman will do for the love of her heart. I remember we'll those tales of knights and ladies she used to tell me as we sat together of an evening, and also those adven- lures of her own knight. my good father, in the war with the British. My love of arms and of just quarrel began then.
 After the war came hard times. My father had not prospered handsomely, when, near the end of the summer of 1903, he sold his farm. and we all started west, over rough trails and roadways. There were seven of HIS. bound for the valley of the St. Law rence-my father and mother, my two sisters, my grandmother, D'ri, the hired man, and myself, then sturdy boy of ten. We had an oX-team and cart that carried our provision, the sacred feather beds of my mother, and aome few other things.
 We drove with us the first flock of sheep that ever went west. There were 70 of them, and they filled our days with trouble But for our faithful dog Rover, I fear we should have ,g lost heart and left them to the wild wolves. The cart had a low cover of canvas. and my mother and grand mother sat on the feather beds. and rode with small comfort even where the roads were level. My father let me carry my little pet rooster in a basket that hung from the cart-axle when not in my keeping. The rooster had harder time than any of us. fancy. for the days were hot and the roads rough. He was always panting. with open mouth and thoughtful eye. when 1 lifted the cover. But every day he gave us an example of cheerful ness not wholly without effect. He crowed triumphantly. betimes, in the hot basket. even when he was being tumbled about on the swamp ways. Nights I always found perch for him on the limb of tree, above the reach of predatory creatures. Every morn ing, as the dawn showed faintly in the Tapping his wings with all the seem ing of delight Then, often, while the echo rang, I would open my eyes and watch the light grow in the dusky cavern of the woods. He would sit dozing awhile after the first outbreak. and presently as the flood of light grew clearer, lift himself a little, take an- other peep at the sky. and crow again, turning his head to hear those weird, mocking roosters of the timber-land Then, shortly. 1 would hear my father poking the fire or saying. as he patted the rooster: Sass 'em back. ye noisy little brat! Thet's right: holler Tell D'ri it's time t bring some wood fer the fire"
 In a few minutes the pot and kettle would be boiling and the camp all astir. We had trout ard partridge and venison a-pleaty for our meals. that were served in dishes of tin. Break fast over. we packed our things. The rart went on ahead. my father bring Ing the oxen. while started the sheep with D'ri.
 Those sheep were as many thorns in cur flesh that day we made of in the deep woods from Lake Champlain. Travel was new to them, and what with tearing through thickets and run ming wild in every slash. they kept us jumping. When they were leg-weary and used to travel. they began to go quietly. But slow work it was at best, 10 or 12 miles day being all We could do, for the weather was hot and our road like the way of the transgressoT. Our second night in the woods we could hear the wolves bowling as We camped at dusk. We built our fire near the shore of big pond. it's still water framed in the vivid green of young tamaracks. X great hill rose on the farther side of it, with galleries q timber sloping to the summit. and peopled with many birds. We huddled A~ sha~n fp pIaro