though, which struck him as something great in literature. The demon
dog tickled his fancy amazingly. He was somewhat older when he read
"Jane Eyre" and "John Brent," and could recognize a little of their
quality, but "Snarleyow" came to him at an age when there was nothing
in the world to equal it.

Meanwhile the whole face of nature was changing, and the boy was
necessarily keeping up with the procession of new things. Broad
meadows were where even he, a mere boy still, had seen dense woodland;
there were highways, and it was far from the farmhouse door to the
forests edge. The fauna had diminished. The bear and wolverine had
gone forever. The fox rarely barked at night; the deer and wild turkey
were far less plentiful, though the ruffed grouse still drummed in the
copses, and the quail whistled from the fences. Different, even, were
the hunters in their methods. The boy, whose single-barreled shot-gun
had known no law, now carried a better piece, and scorned to slay a
sitting bird. Both he and Alf became great wing shots, and clever
gentlemen sportsmen from the city who sometimes came to hunt with them
could not hope to own so good a bag at the day's end. Wise as to dogs
and horses were they, too, and keen riders at country races. And
ridges of good muscles stiffened now their loins, and their chests were
deepening, and at "raisings," when the men and boys of the region
wrestled after their work was done, the two were not uncounted. For
them the country school had accomplished its mission. The world's
geography was theirs. Grammar they had memorized, but hardly
comprehended. As for mathematics, they were on the verge of algebra.
Then came the force of laws of politics and trade, a shifting of
things, and Grant strode out of nature to learn the artificial. His
family was removed to town.