dark
bear."

"And whut about this here?" he continued, now beholding for the first
time the remaining woodcock, which hung from the limb of a low tree, and
pointing toward it. "Is that there a Mound Builder's chicken?"

"Assuredly not," I said. "That is a white woodcock. There was also a
black woodcock, presumably a mate of this one; but it--it has been
disposed of. The pair were slain yesterday with bow and arrow in the
adjacent depths of the woodland, which is their customary habitat."

You will note that I constantly refrained from mentioning my youthful
compatriots. Did I dare reveal that I had companions, and by so doing
expose those helpless lads to the unbridled fury of these maniacal
beings, filled with the low cunning and insatiable curiosity of the
insane? No; a thousand times, no! Rather would I perish first. At all
hazards I would protect them--such was my instantaneous determination.

"I git you," replied the bearded man, his tone and manner changing
abruptly from the truculent and threatening to the soothing. "You was
takin' a private lesson in plain and fancy swimmin' on a pink sofa
cushion; and that there ancient and honourable milk crock was willed to
you by the Mound-buildin' Aztecs; and a big bear come in the night and
et up your wild strawberries--which was a great pity, too, seein'
they're worth thirty cents a quart right this minute on the New York
market; and you killed them two pedigreed Leghorn woodcocks with a bow
and arrows in the forest--the forest whutever you jest now called it.
Jest whut are you, anyway?"

"By profession I am a clergyman," I answered.

"And do all the members of your persuasion wear them little sailor suits
or is it confined to the preachers only?" he demanded.

I gathered that this coarse reference applied to my attire.

"This," I told him, "is the uniform or garb of an organisation known as
the Young Nuts of America. I am the Chief Nut."

"I can't take issue with you here," he said with a raucous laugh. "And
now, Chief, jest one thing more: Would you mind tellin' us whut your aim
was in holdin' your nose over that there brush fire a bit ago?"

"My head has been giving me some trouble," I said. "I was curing myself
with the aid of the smoke."

"One minute a nut and the next minute a ham," he murmured, half to
himself. Dropping his pitchfork, he stretched his hands toward me. "I
s'pose," he added, "it ain't no use to ask you when you got out?"

In a flash it