The Fourth Watch




Chapter I

The Awakening


The boy plied his hoe in a listless manner, for his thoughts were
elsewhere. Several hundred yards to the right stood the forest, glorious
in its brilliant autumn hues. There among those trees the wary partridges
were feeding or perching temptingly upon bough, fallen log or ragged
stump. To the left the waters of the noble River St. John rippled and
sparkled beneath the glowing sun. Over there amidst that long stretch of
marshland, in many a cove and reedy creek, the wild ducks were securely
hidden. What connection had a rugged, stirring lad with a brown sombre
potato patch when the strong insistent voice of the wild was calling him
to fields afar? There was no inspiration here--among these straggling
rows. Nothing to thrill a boy's heart, or to send the blood surging and
tingling through his body. But there--! He sighed as he leaned upon his
hoe and looked yearningly around. Down on the shore; in a sheltered cove
among the trees, the _Scud_, a small boat, was idly flapping her
dirty patched sail.

"Wonder what dad left it up for?" thought the boy.