They soon reached a clearing in the woods, and discovered a rough-looking man concealed behind the prostrate trunk of a large tree, getting ready to fire at a pair of rabbits, which were nibbling the herbage at a short distance from him. The timid creatures apparently heard the boys’ footsteps, for they suddenly fled, before the man noticed that any one else was near. When he turned about and saw the boys, he looked surprised, and a scowl settled upon his face.
“What did you scare my game for?” he inquired, in a surly tone, addressing Clinton.
The latter seemed somewhat alarmed, and replied that it was entirely accidental. The appearance of the man was far from prepossessing, leaving out of the account his cross looks, and the solitary place in which they encountered him. His face was coarse and unshaven, and his hair looked as if it was not on good terms with the comb. He wore a loose blouse, or frock, and a queer slouched cap, and his feet were without stockings. After giving the boys a searching look, he said, addressing Clinton:
“Do you know me?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
“Who is this boy?” continued the man, pointing to Whistler.
“He is a cousin of mine, from Boston,” replied Clinton.
“What are you here after?” inquired the gunner.
“Partly to take a walk, and partly to get some strawberries,” said Clinton.