ine, it may be remembered--and the death of that
porcupine rested heavily upon me, especially when I remembered how he
had whined and grieved in the moment of dying. I think I had a notion
that eating the owl would in some measure atone for the porcupine. I
said, with such firmness as I could command, and all day I repeated at
intervals, that we would eat the owl.

We camped rather early that afternoon, for it was not pleasant traveling
in the chill mist, and the prospect of the campfire and a snug tent was
an ever-present temptation. I had suggested, also, that we ought to go
ashore in time to cook the owl for supper. It might take time to cook
him.

We did not especially need the owl. We had saved a number of choice
small trout and we were still able to swallow them when prepared in a
really palatable form. Eddie, it is true, had condemned trout at
breakfast, and declared he would have no more of them, but this may have
been because there were flapjacks. He showed no disposition to condemn
them now. When I mentioned the nice, tender owl meat which we were to
have, he really looked longingly at the trout and spoke of them as juicy
little fellows, such as he had always liked. I agreed that they would be
good for the first course, and that a bird for supper would make out a
sumptuous meal. I have never known Eddie to be so kind to me as he was
about this time. He offered me some leaders and flies and even presented
me with a silver-mounted briar-root pipe, brought all the way from
London. I took the things, but I did not soften my heart. I was born in
New England and have a conscience. I cannot be bribed like that.

I told the guides that it would be better to begin supper right away, in
order that we might not get too hungry before the owl was done. I
thought them slow in their preparations for the meal. It was curious,
too, for I had promised them they should have a piece of the bird. Del
was generous. He said he would give his to Charles. That he never really
cared much for birds, anyhow. Why, once, he said, he shot a partridge
and gave it away, and he was hungry, too. He gave it to a boy that
happened along just then, and when another partridge flew up he didn't
even offer to shoot it. We didn't take much stock in that story until it
dawned upon us that he had shot the bird out of season, and the boy had
happened along just in time to be incriminated by accepting it as a
present. It was better to have him as a part