e moon hung near the zenith and when we came out in the
open we could see into the far fields. I climbed into my basket at the
wall and as Uncle Eb carried me over the brook, stopping on a flat rock
midway to take a drink, I could see the sky in the water, and it seemed
as if a misstep would have tumbled me into the moon.

'Hear the crickets holler,' said Uncle Eb, as he followed the bank up
into the open pasture.

'What makes 'em holler?' I asked.

'O, they're jes' filin' their saws an' thinkin'. Mebbe tellin' o' what's
happened 'em. Been a hard day fer them little folks. Terrible flood in
their country. Everyone on em hed t' git up a steeple quick 'she could
er be drownded. They hev their troubles an' they talk 'bout 'em, too.'

'What do they file their saws for?' I enquired.

'Well, ye know,' said he, 'where they live the timber's thick an' they
hev hard work clearin' t' mek a home.'

I was getting too sleepy for further talk. He made his way from field to
field, stopping sometimes to look off at the distant mountains then at
the sky or to whack the dry stalks of mullen with his cane. I remember
he let down some bars after a long walk and stepped into a smooth
roadway. He stood resting a little while, his basket on the top bar, and
then the moon that I had been watching went down behind the broad rim of
his hat and I fell into utter forgetfulness. My eyes opened on a lovely
scene at daylight Uncle Eb had laid me on a mossy knoll in a bit of
timber and through an opening right in front of us I could see a broad
level of shining water, and the great green mountain on the further
shore seemed to be up to its belly in the sea.

'Hello there!' said Uncle Eb; 'here we are at Lake Champlain.'

I could hear the fire crackling and smell the odour of steeping tea.

'Ye flopped 'round like a fish in thet basket,' said Uncle Eb. ''Guess
ye must a been drearnin' O' bears. Jumped so ye scairt me. Didn't know
but I had a wil' cat on my shoulders.'

Uncle Eb had taken a fish-line out of his pocket and was tying it to a
rude pole that he had cut and trinmed with his jack-knife.

'I've found some crawfish here,' he said, 'an' I'm goin' t' try fer a
bite on the p'int O' rocks there.'

'Goin' t' git some fish, Uncle Eb?' I enquired.

'Wouldn't say't I was, er wouldn't say't I wasn't,' he answered. 'Jes
goin' t' try.'

Uncle Eb was always careful not to commit himself on a doubtful point.
He had fixed his hook and sinker