in a heap, and cuts three lengths of six feet each from the butt. This
insures browse and back logs for some time ahead. Two strong stakes are
cut and sharpened.

Four small logs, two of eight and two of nine feet in length, are
prepared, plenty of night wood is made ready, a supply of bright, dry
hemlock bark is carried to camp, and the O.W. rests from his labors,
resuming his favorite pastime of sitting on a log and smoking navy plug.

Finally it occurs to him that he is there partly as guide and mentor
to the younger men, and that they need a lesson on cleanliness. He
brings out the frying pans and finds a filthy looking mess of grease in
each one, wherein ants, flies, and other insects have contrived to get
mixed. Does he heat some water, and clean and scour the pans? Not if he
knows himself. If he did it once he might keep on doing it. He is
cautious about establishing precedents, and he has a taste for
entomology. He places the pans in the sun where the grease will soften
and goes skirmishing for ants and doodle bugs. They are not far to
seek, and he soon has a score of large black ants, with a few bugs and
spiders, pretty equally distributed among the frying pans. To give
the thing a plausible look a few flies are added, and the two largest
pans are finished off, one with a large earwig, the other with a
thousand-legged worm. The pans are replaced in the shanty, the embers
are leveled and nearly covered with bits of dry hemlock bark, and the
O.W. resumes his pipe and log.

With such a face of Christian satisfaction, as good men wear, who have
done a virtuous action.

Before noon the boys are all in, and as the catch is twice as numerous
and twice as large as on the previous evening, and as the weather is
all that could be asked of the longest days in June, they are in
excellent spirits. The boxes are brought out, pork is sliced, a can of
Indian meal comes to the front, and they go for the frying pans.

"Holy Moses! Look here. Just see the ants and bugs."

Second Man.--"Well, I should say! I can see your ants and bugs, and go
you an earwig better."

Third Man (inverting his pan spitefully over the fire).--"Damn 'em.
I'll roast the beggars."

Bush D. (who is something of a cook and woodsman) "Boys, I'll take the
pot. I've got a thousand-legged worm at the head of a pismire flush,
and it serves us right, for a lot of slovens. Dishes should be cleaned
as often as they are used. Now let's scour our pans and