Camp and Trail - A Story of the Maine Woods by Isabel Hornibrook
page 68 of 263 (25%)
page 68 of 263 (25%)
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Seeing his mother go for the woods, her spotted fawn, which had been frolicking among the branches of the fallen spruce-tree, skipped from it, passed Dol with a bound which carried him a few feet, and disappeared like a whiff too. Here was a rouser, indeed, which no boy, unless he was in a far-gone state of suffering, could withstand. Dol Farrar forgot his terrible predicament. The fog had cleared away from his senses, leaving him free to think and act once more. "Well, I never!" he ejaculated, springing to his feet in amazement. "Wasn't she a beauty? And wasn't she a snorter? I didn't think a deer could make such a row as that. And to stand still and stare at me! I wonder whether she took me for some new-fashioned sort of animal or a gray old stump." It was a few minutes before he again thought of his plight, and then he was not overcome. He stood perfectly still, trying to review the position coolly, and to get a tight grip of his feelings, so that terror might not again master him. "I'm in a worse scrape than I ever dreamt of," he muttered, puckering his forehead to do some tall thinking. "And I must do something to get out of it. But what? That's the question. "I wonder if I loaded this 'ole fuzzee,'"--the lad was making a valiant effort to cheer himself by being jocular,--"and blazed away with it for a while like mad, whether there is any human being around who would hear me. Some fellow might be hunting or trapping in this part of the forest, |
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