“Wal, I dunno. Once there was an old feller that complained the eels didn’t squirm’s lively as they uster when he was a boy; but, somehow, I reckoned his memory was playin’ tricks with him. It’s the same way with the weather. All the oldest inhabitants’ll keep on tellin’ you the climate’s changin’, and losin’ its grip; but I guess, fust and last, there ain’t much difference. Why, when I was a youngster, they had a joke that this would be a rattlin’ good country if the sleighin’ didn’t get sorter thin for three months in the year; but I don’t recall makin’ snowballs on the Fourth of July. And, when you think it over, you’re likely to be enjoyin’ just about as much concentrated winter this minute as anybody ever really needed in these parts.”
Thus Lon Gates rambled on for the entertainment of Sam Parker, bustling about his work in the barn the while. It was a fine, clear morning, the air still and crisp, and the snow glittering in the bright sunshine.
“Maybe—but this is a bully day,” said Sam cheerfully.
There was a twinkle in Lon’s eye. “Lot better’n that other Saturday, when the hedgehog had all his spines on end, eh? Wal, the weather does make a pile o’ difference in the human feelin’s. And, as I was sayin’, we’ve got jest about enough winter to be real comfortable right this minute—plenty of snow for haulin’, and cold enough to fill the bill. Even zero when I got up this mornin’, and ’tain’t more’n ten above now. And it looks ’sif there wouldn’t be a thaw for a good spell. And that’ll help the lumbermen to get out their logs. Your father can tell you what that means to the fellers in the woods.”
“I’ve heard him talk about it,” said Sam. Mr. Parker was interested in several tracts of woodland; and though his son never had visited a lumber camp, he had some idea of the methods pursued.
“Ought to get him to take you on one of his trips,” Lon observed. “He’ll be makin’ one before long.”
“Wish he would!” said Sam.
Lon bustled into the harness-room. In a moment Sam heard a sharp exclamation of surprise; and out popped Lon, carrying a heavy collar with dangling traces.
“Jest look at that!” he stormed. “Suff’rin’ snakes! but that’s the wust yet! What skunk do you s’pose’d be mean enough to carve a brand new harness that way?”
The leather of the collar was deeply gashed in several places, and the traces were almost severed.