Tom Slade in the north woods

by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

It was the kind of wood that is generally used for packing boxes. Printed in large letters and written in indelible ink across the board was

TO—MR. HARRISON McCLINTICK,

P. O. ADDRESS—HARKNESS,

CLINTON COUNTY, NEW YORK.

CARE OF

LEATHERSTOCKING CAMP.

Brent stooped and lifted the board gingerly. A stifled cry escaped his lips as he flung it awkwardly from him. For in that act, he had unwittingly laid bare the opening of the grave.

Speech was impossible! We stood transfixed, humbled, on that ground that death had hallowed.

There seemed to be something unholy in letting our curious, mortal eyes peer down into that dark tomb. But on the other hand, ours was a curiosity born of mercy, whereas our unknown predecessor had come to despoil and desecrate what should have been a chamber of eternal peace.

Our eyes were dazzled and blurred from the bright sun. Gradually though, we became accustomed to the darkness and beheld the coffin lying opened, the lid standing against the side of the grave.