“Boys, you are regular hunters and no mistake,” said Peter Parsons warmly. “Three at once! Winship, it is wonderful!”
“You are right,” answered Ezra Winship. “These deer are of good size, and from what they say of the buck he must have been in his prime.”
“Then we’ll have the hat and coat rack after all,” said Harmony brightly.
“And three good rugs in addition,” came from Cora.
Neither Mr. Parsons nor Mr. Winship advised letting the buck hang in the tree too long, and both volunteered to go after the game. But the boys preferred to go after it themselves, after they had had a short rest. While they were resting, Mrs. Parsons treated them to some fresh sugared corn cookies she had just made, while Cora brought them each a glass of nice birch beer of their own make. In those days beer made of birch, spruce, and various roots was a common drink.
Leaving their fathers to dress and cut up the venison brought in, Joe and Harry set out on the return to the hunting ground. Neither expected to see any more game that day, yet each had loaded his gun, and Harry his pistol in addition, and the weapons were carried in such a fashion that they could be brought into use at short notice if required.
“If we go fishing this afternoon, I wonder if we’ll have such luck as we had hunting,” remarked Harry, as they strode forward in the direction of the brook.
“You mustn’t expect too much good luck all at once,” responded his chum with a short laugh. “Besides, with so much meat we won’t want so much fish.”
“I’ll never expect to bring down a larger buck, shall you?”
“Hardly. Yet we are both young, and there is no telling what luck we’ll have before we die.”