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Presently they came to a great ledge, frost-split and cracked into mysterious crevices.

“Here’s where we used to get all the coons,” said John York. “I have n’t seen a coon this great while, spite o’ your courage knocking on the trees up back here. You know that night we got the four fat ones? We started ’em somewheres near here, so the dog could get after ’em when they come out at night to go foragin’.”

“Hold on, John;” and Mr. Isaac Brown got up from the log where he had just sat down to rest, and went to the ledge, and looked carefully all about. When he came back he was much excited, and beckoned his friend away, speaking in a stage whisper.

“I guess you ‘ll see a coon before you ‘re much older,” he proclaimed. “I ‘ve thought it looked lately as if there ‘d been one about my place, and there’s plenty o’ signs here, right in their old haunts. Couple o’ hens’ heads an’ a lot o’ feathers”–

“Might be a fox,” interrupted John York.

“Might be a coon,” answered Mr. Isaac Brown. “I ‘m goin’ to have him, too. I ‘ve been lookin’ at every old hollow tree I passed, but I never thought o’ this place. We ‘ll come right off to-morrow night, I guess, John, an’ see if we can’t get him. ‘T is an extra handy place for ’em to den; in old times the folks always called it a good place; they ‘ve been so sca’ce o’ these late years that I ‘ve thought little about ’em. Nothin’ I ever liked so well as a coon-hunt. Gorry! he must be a big old fellow, by his tracks! See here, in this smooth dirt; just like a baby’s footmark.”

“Trouble is, we lack a good dog,” said John York anxiously, after he had made an eager inspection. “I don’t know where in the world to get one, either. There ain’t no such a dog about as your Rover, but you ‘ve let him get spoilt; these days I don’t see him leave the yard. You ought to keep the women folks from overfeedin’ of him so. He ought to ‘ve lasted a good spell longer. He’s no use for huntin’ now, that’s certain.”

Isaac accepted the rebuke meekly. John York was a calm man, but he now grew very fierce under such a provocation. Nobody likes to be hindered in a coon-hunt.

“Oh, Rover’s too old, anyway,” explained the affectionate master regretfully. “I ‘ve been wishing all this afternoon I ‘d brought him; but I did n’t think anything about him as we came away, I ‘ve got so used to seeing him layin’ about the yard. ‘T would have been a real treat for old Rover, if he could have kept up. Used to be at my heels the whole time. He could n’t follow us, anyway, up here.”

“I should n’t wonder if he could,” insisted John, with a humorous glance at his old friend, who was much too heavy and huge of girth for quick transit over rough ground. John York himself had grown lighter as he had grown older.

“I ‘ll tell you one thing we could do,” he hastened to suggest. “There ‘s that dog of ‘Bijah Topllff’s. Don’t you know the old lady told us, that day she went over to Dipford, how high he was valued? Most o’ ‘Bijah’s important business was done in the fall, goin’ out by night, gunning with fellows from the mills. He was just the kind of a worthless do-nothing that’s sure to have an extra knowin’ smart dog. I expect ‘Liza Jane ‘s got him now. Perhaps we could get him by to-morrow night. Let one o’ my boys go over!”

“Why, ‘Liza Jane ‘s come, bag an’ baggage, to spend the winter with her mother,” exclaimed Isaac Brown, springing to his feet like a boy. “I ‘ve had it in mind to tell you two or three times this afternoon, and then something else has flown it out of my head. I let my John Henry take the long-tailed wagon an’ go down to the depot this mornin’ to fetch her an’ her goods up. The old lady come in early, while we were to breakfast, and to hear her lofty talk you ‘d thought ‘t would taken a couple o’ four-horse teams to move her. I told John Henry he might take that wagon and fetch up what light stuff he could, and see how much else there was, an’ then I ‘d make further arrangements. She said ‘Liza Jane ‘d see me well satisfied, an’ rode off, pleased to death. I see ’em returnin’ about eight, after the train was in. They ‘d got ‘Liza Jane with ’em, smaller ‘n ever; and there was a trunk tied up with a rope, and a small roll o’ beddin’ and braided mats, and a quilted rockin’-chair. The old lady was holdin’ on tight to a bird-cage with nothin’ in it. Yes; an’ I see the dog, too, in behind. He appeared kind of timid. He ‘s a yaller dog, but he ain’t stump-tailed. They hauled up out front o’ the house, and mother an’ I went right out; Mis’ Price always expects to have notice taken. She was in great sperits. Said ‘Liza Jane concluded to sell off most of her stuff rather ‘n have the care of it. She ‘d told the folks that Mis’ Topliff had a beautiful sofa and a lot o’ nice chairs, and two framed pictures that would fix up the house complete, and invited us all to come over and see ’em. There, she seemed just as pleased returnin’ with the bird-cage. Disappointments don’t appear to trouble her no more than a butterfly. I kind of like the old creatur’; I don’t mean to see her want.”