Well, these thoughts presented themselves to me in this way: He does know me. And these are some of the same geese that come around here every spring, for they frequent the same places. To be frank, I studied wild geese until I felt like flying. Surely they must be the same geese. They do know me as their enemy. No man on earth knows their cunningness and depth. If they know me as their enemy, surely they would know a friend if they had one. But what can I do? I own only ten acres of land, and it is very much disfigured by taking about three feet of the surface off for making drain-tile and brick. But I will try.

So I called the neighbors (mostly boys) together and told them if they would not shoot at a wild goose around here I would bring some right to that place and we would shoot a limited number when the opportunity was right. This seemed too good to be true, as only one of them had ever shot a wild goose, and all jumped at the scheme.

I graded up a bank at the far side of this sore eye ten acres, making, not a pond, but a mud-hole. Then I bought seven wing-clipped Canada geese from an old gentleman who had trapped them unlawfully, put them back in this cavity and fed them there. They soon became quite tame and interesting. This was in the spring of 1904. The seven geese got so they roamed all over the ten acres, making this mud-hole their home; but no wild ones ever came. In 1905 none came; 1906 brought the same result; and even 1907 came, but no geese. And really I was the mark of the neighborhood; the questions I was asked would surely jar the cherries on Aunt Sarah’s Sunday bonnet.

But April the second, 1908, was my innings, for the whole neighborhood was aroused long before breakfast. “The geese have come! the geese have come! Jack said they would come!” and everybody had a gun.

Now I was face to face with another serious problem, but all listened to me as I explained that if we did not shoot at them until they got settled down and made this their spring home, the ones we did not kill would return next spring and surely bring more with them. Every hunter was very reasonable, and, after having a quiet chat, each took his gun back home. In about three weeks I hoisted the signal and every one was on deck. I believe I was the biggest boy of the bunch. All of us went over to the tile factory and watched these eleven geese from the upstairs window until the goose fever got a few notches higher than our nerves. Then we all came down and marched up behind the embankment. “Now,” I said, “don’t shoot at them sitting, or you will hit my tame ones.” Then I said, “Cock your guns,” and I gave an alarming “Honk!” and that instant every one of the eleven geese was in the air, and “Bang! Bangety! Bang!” went the eight guns into them. When the soft coal smoke had finally cleared away, five geese lay dead on the muddy water. The other six, screaming with fright, flew away to the lake.

Now how fortunate this was for me: The eight guns came from five homes, and thus each home had a good fat goose for the oven. And all was going well so far.

I did not expect to see these geese come back until another spring, but to my surprise in about two hours they were circling high in the air and honking for their lost companions. Finally they went away again, but the next morning they were back, bright and early, and to my great satisfaction they lit and fed with mine, and it was surprising how soon they quieted down. I asked the neighbors not to shoot at them again that spring, and all kindly agreed.

Then came a whole lot more fun for the public. “Jack Miner is not going to shoot those six geese; he says they will come back next spring!” Really this furnished fun for a great percentage of the community. One old gentleman told me how his great-uncle Dave killed ’steen wild geese before breakfast; and this dear old gentleman’s white hair just shook as he explained the points, how to clean right up on this six, and not one could get away if his plans were carried out. Why, bless your life, they had gotten so tame I honestly believe I could have killed them with a fishing pole. Yet of course I respected his grey hairs enough not to interfere with his trembling thoughts.

One morning about May 1st, they rose up and circled higher and higher, and started straight north.

It was not until the next spring that the flood of sneering questions poured in upon me! “Jack, when do you expect the six geese to return?” And another smart fellow said, “Jack, which direction will they come from?” But feeling confident I would be able to laugh last I just gritted my teeth inwardly, and smiled from the outside, and answered as kindly as I possibly could. I only remember answering one fellow short. He said, “Jack, when are the geese coming?” I said, “Likely they will come when they get ready.”