“He gied me the key, and said he was going across the river, hunting.”
“But Horatio never hunts out of season.”
“Well, now, he might be hunting a cow on his new farm, or he might be hunting berries for your supper.” So said George Gillies, but went away looking grave.
When they entered the log cabin, with its fire of silvery birch crackling cheerfully in the fireplace, Mrs. Rich found a note on the table:
Yes, Dearest,
The gray squirrel has gone a-hunting. He knows how you used to worry when he first carried a gun, but please remember that he never had an accident. He has gone with some of the Canadian boys to Camp Valcartier.
Couldn’t help it, mother, and couldn’t bear to say good-by. Father will understand. He himself went hunting.
Tell Jeanie I love her and love her star. Please God, we’ll unify it by the use of nitrogen, and please God, I’ll come back safe.
I hope you will find everything all right at the cabin. I’ve added some picric acid to the medicine closet in case of burns.
Horatio.