“You may keep them this summer, and next winter; but you’ll lose them in the spring, unless you put them in a cage.”
“How can that be? I let them out the other day, and they followed the hen, and acted just like any other chickens.”
“Because that wild nature is born in ’em; you may take an Indian boy and send him to school; but when he’s grown, he’ll take to the wigwam again. I tell you, when the partridges begin to drum next spring, look out.”
“What is the name of this place where I slept last night?”
“It has no name; it’s wild land, wilderness: didn’t you see a bear there?”
“Yes, sir; and I heard wolves howl in the night; but is there not some name to tell it by?”
“There’s a number to the range,—I forget what it is,—and we call the cove Pleasant Cove.”
“That’s a first-rate name: what made them call it that?”
“Because it is such a nice harbor, and a sheltered, sunny spot; people in the winter time, bitter cold weather, pulling up the bay in a canoe, get under the lee of that long p’int, and then go into the cove, and are safe.”