“I never seed one jest like this afore. I reckon yer from some city up North, ain’t ye?”
“Yes; I am Clarence Gordon, and my brother and I are down here on a visit to our cousins, Don and Bert. You are Mr. Evans, I believe.”
“Sarvent, sar,” said Godfrey, who could not remember that any one had ever put a handle to his name before. He was flattered by this show of respect, and Clarence could not have approached him in any way better calculated to gain his good will.
“Well, Mr. Evans, I hope we shall see much of each other,” said Clarence. “It is possible that I may stay here until spring, that is, if there is good hunting in the neighborhood; is there?”
“Ye couldn’t come to a better place, if that’s what ye want,” said Godfrey.
“It is just what I want. I am very fond of it, but I know but little about it, having always lived in the city, and I shall need somebody to teach me. I know of no one more capable of acting as my instructor than yourself.”
Clarence saw by the vacant, bewildered expression on the man’s face that he did not understand his fine language, so he hastened to add:—
“I am told that you are a fine shot with the rifle and the best hunter in the country. You never come from the woods without something to show as a proof of your skill.”
“Wal, that thar’s a fact,” said Godfrey, who now began to see what Clarence was getting at. “I know right whar all the game rises, an’ as fur larnin’ folks—wal, thar’s my two boys. They didn’t know nothin’ when I fust took ’em in hand, an’ to-day thar ain’t nobody about here can beat ’em.”
“Then you are just the man I want, and I wish you would take me in hand. Squirrels are plenty about here, I suppose?”