tions which may exist, the conscience is not so
nervously acute, is something for the theologians to decide,--they will
decide anything,--but the fact remains. The out-door conscience is
strong, but seldom retrospective.

Grant Harlson swung his maul and delighted in what was about him, and
breathed the crisp October air, scented with the spice bushes he cut to
clear the way, and pondered less and less upon the puzzles of the
Hindoo king. His mood was all robust, and when he visited the town he
was a wonder to Mrs. Rolfston, who was infatuated with the savagery of
his wooing and madly discontent with the certainty that she must lose
him. She made wild propositions, which he laughed at. She would
remove to the city; she would do many things. He said only that the
present was good, and that she was fair to look upon. And from her he
would go to his other sweetheart, the great maul, and be faithful for
six days of the seven. He did not work as late of afternoons now. He
was enjoying life again in the old healthful, boyish way.

He had a friend from town with him, too--a setter, with Titian hair and
big eyes, which slept on the clover beside him, and an afternoon or two
a week he would take dog and gun and go where the ruffed grouse were or
where a flock of wild turkeys had their haunts among the beech trees.
He would announce, with much presumption and assurance, at some
farm-house door, that he would be over for dinner to-morrow, and that
it would be a game dinner, and that he would leave the game with them
on his way back that same evening. There would be chaffings and
expressions of doubt as to reliance upon such promise and "First catch
your rabbit" comment, but they were not earnest words, for his ability
as a mighty hunter was well known.

Craft and patience are required when the wild turkey is to be secured,
for it is wise in its generation, and will carry lead, but it is worth
the trouble, for no pampered gobbler of the farm-yard has meat of its
rich flavor. Beech-nuts and berries make diet for a bird for kings to
eat. And when Harlson brought a couple of noble young turkeys to the
board the banquet was a great one, and the boys pitched quoits that
night no better for it. A good thing is the wild turkey, but even a
better thing, when his numbers and quality are considered, is the
ruffed grouse, the partridge of the North, the pheasant of the South.
How, in the lake region, he dawdles among the low-lan