nd simply for the manhood in
each; and that thus misconception and prejudice may disappear like mists
of an old-day dream.

ISABEL HORNIBROOK.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. JACKING FOR DEER

II. A SPILL-OUT

III. LIFE IN A BARK HUT

IV. WHITHER BOUND?

V. A COON HUNT

VI. AFTER BLACK DUCKS

VII. A FOREST GUIDE-POST

VIII. ANOTHER CAMP

IX. A SUNDAY AMONG THE PINES

X. FORWARD ALL!

XI. BEAVER WORKS

XII. "GO IT, OLD BRUIN!"

XIII. "THE SKIN IS YOURS"

XIV. A LUCKY HUNTER

XV. A FALLEN KING

XVI. MOOSE-CALLING

XVII. HERB'S YARNS

XVIII. To LONELIER WILDS

XIX. TREED BY A MOOSE

XX. DOL'S TRIUMPH

XXI. ON KATAHDIN

XXII. THE OLD HOME-CAMP

XXIII. BROTHERS' WORK

XXIV. "KEFPING THINGS EVEN"

XXV. A LITTLE CARIBOU QUARREL

XXVI. DOC AGAIN

XXVII. CHRISTMAS ON THE OTHER SIDE

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE MOOSE WAS NOW SNORTING LIKE A WAR-HORSE BENEATH.

"THERE IS MOOSEHEAD LAKE."

DOL SIGHTS A FRIENDLY CAMP.

IN THE SHADOW OF KATAHDIN.

"GO IT, OLD BRUIN! GO IT WHILE YOU CAN!"

"HERB HEAL."

A FALLEN KING.

THE CAMP ON MILLINOKETT LAKE.

"HERB CHARGED THROUGH THE CHOKING DUST-CLOUDS."

GREENVILLE,--"FAREWELL TO THE WOODS."

CAMP AND TRAIL.

CHAPTER I.

JACKING FOR DEER.

"Now, Neal Farrar, you've got to be as still as the night itself,
remember. If you bounce, or turn, or draw a long breath, you won't have
a rag of reputation as a deer-hunter to take back to England. Sneeze
once, and we're done for. That means more diet of flapjacks and pork,
instead of venison steaks. And I guess your city appetite won't rally to
pork much longer, even in the wilds."

Neal Farrar sighed as if there was something in that.

"But, you know, it's just when an unlucky fellow would give his life
not to sneeze that he's sure to bring out a thumping big one," he said
plaintively.

"Well, keep it back like a hero if your head bursts in the attempt," was
the reply with a muffled laugh. "When you know that the canoe is gliding
along somehow, but you can't hear a sound or feel a motion, and you
begin to wonder whether you're in the air or on water, flying or
floating, imagine that you're the ghost of some old Indian hunter who
used to jack for deer on Squaw Pond, and be stonily silent."

"Oh! I say, stop chaffing," whispered Neal impetuously. "You're enough
to make a fellow feel creepy before ever he starts. I could bear the
worst racket on earth better