When the doctor wrote the prescription for this medicine, “No moving for an hour,” he was giving you a very small, a homeopathic dose of patience, as you can see; for an hour at a time, every wood-watcher knows, will often be only a waste of time, unless followed immediately by another hour of the same.
On the road to the village one day, I passed a fox-hunter sitting atop an old stump. It was about seven o’clock in the morning.
“Hello, Will!” I called, “been out all night?”
“No, got here ’bout an hour ago,” he replied.
I drove on and, returning near noon, found Will still atop the stump.
“Had a shot yet?” I called.
“No, the dogs brought him down ’tother side the brook, and carried him over to the Shanty field.”
About four o’clock that afternoon I was hurrying down to the station, and there was Will atop that same stump.
“Got him yet?” I called.
“No, dogs are fetching him over the Quarries now”—and I was out of hearing.