had fired were fatal--they would not listen to it,
but they turned to, skinned the animal, and presented the hide to her,
regretting that they had not several others, that her husband might
collect twenty dollars apiece from Mr. Bailey, his employer.

"This isn't the only bear in the woods," said she, thanking them for
their kindness; "and some of you will see another before long. But this
will do for to-day."

They thought so, too; and, swinging their hats in the air, bade her
good-by and started homeward.

Sam Harper proposed that they should go out of their path to examine the
carcass of the deer, so as to learn whether the shot of Herbert took
effect; but that young gentleman was frank enough to admit, after his
experience, that it was impossible he had come anywhere near hitting the
buck. Accordingly, they continued homeward, Herbert going back to the
city a few days afterward to find out, if he could, why his gun so often
failed to hit the object he aimed at.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE "DARK DAY" OF SEPTEMBER, 1881.

The summer during which Nicholas Ribsam attained the age of twelve years
was viewed with dismal forebodings by many people, for the reason that a
celebrated weather prophet had foretold that it would be unusually
rainy, cold, and wet.

As a consequence, it proved to be the driest known in years. Days,
weeks, and even months passed without a drop of rain falling from the
brassy sky, and the fine powdery dust permeated everywhere. The weather
prophet lost caste, but he persisted in announcing rain, knowing that he
had only to stick to it long enough to hit it in the course of time.

As the autumn approached and the drought continued over a vast extent of
territory, the forest fires raged in different parts of the country. All
day and night immense volumes of smoke and vapor hung over the land, and
the appearance of the sun was so peculiar as to cause alarm on the part
of those who were superstitious.

There came a "dark day," like that of the 19th of May, 1780, which
overspread New England, and was most marked in Massachusetts. The
Connecticut Legislature was in session, and the belief was so universal
that the last awful day had come that the motion was made to adjourn.
Then, as the graphic Quaker poet says:

All eyes were turned to Abraham Davenport.
He rose, slow cleaving with his steady voice
The intolerable hush. "This well may be
The Day of Judgment which the world aw