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Updated: June 28, 2025
In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-by, Silverhorns!" "Ye tell it weel," said McLeod, reaching out for a fresh cigar. "Fegs! Ah doot Sir Walter himsel' couldna impruve upon it. An, sae thot's the way ye didna murder puir Seelverhorrns? It's a tale I'm joyfu' to be hearin'." "Wait a bit," Hemenway answered. "That's not the end, by a long shot. There's worse to follow.
The fragrant smoke curled steadily from the glowing tip of the cigar; but the pipe went out half a dozen times while Hemenway was telling the story of Silverhorns. "We went up the river to the big rock, just below Indian Falls. There we made our main camp, intending to hunt on Forty-two Mile Brook.
"'How about gittin' the meals? asts Hemenway. "'Wal, I'd set up, then, an' practise all night, says she. "'I'm afeard that 'u'd be pretty hard on yer paw, says Mr. Sneath, smilin'. 'Wal, Jud, we got ter be goin'. "So they gits inter their dude boat, an' Jess she skips along after 'em, an' jest as they's about to ontie she yells out to the soop'rintendent: "'Cain't I have it? Cain't I have it?
She sent to the Exhibition in Philadelphia, 1876, a chimney-piece on which were sculptured "Children and the Yule-Log and Fireside Spirits." This was purchased by Mrs. Hemenway, of Boston. "Her works are full of poetic fancy; her bas-reliefs of the seven days of the week and of the hours are most lovely and original in conception. Her sketches of Dante in bas-reliefs are equally fine.
"'Yes, says Hemenway, bloated up like a gobbler an' lookin' at Jess where she stan's with her face red an' still a-puffin' for breath; 'an' she thinks she could l'arn right here if she only had a pianner. "'She'd oughter have one, says Mr. Sneath. 'I wish he says, an' then he breaks off like a busted log-chain. 'But we couldn't git it down here. "What's that? asts Hemenway.
So the two men clambered up into the engineer's seat. Hemenway gave McLeod his longest and strongest cigar, and filled his own briarwood pipe. The rain was now pattering gently on the roof of the cab. The engine hissed and sizzled patiently in the darkness.
In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-by, Silverhorns!" "Ye tell it weel," said McLeod, reaching out for a fresh cigar, "fegs! Ah doot Sir Walter himsel' couldna impruve upon it. An, sae thot's the way ye didna murder puir Seelverhorrns? It's a tale I'm joyfu' to be hearin'." "Wait a bit," Hemenway answered. "That's not the end, by a long shot. There's worse to follow.
The captain was helped to his feet by the mate, and was persuaded also to go downstairs. "The captain was pretty well slewed, professor," said Mr. Stubbs, who chanced to be on deck at the time. "It looks like it," answered Professor Hemenway. "If he does that often it'll be a bad lookout for us." "Just what I am thinking, Mr. Stubbs."
He saw that it would pay him better than most kinds of business, and he also discovered that Professor Hemenway was even better off than he had represented. Yet, he was not quite ready to select the same profession, but, being only sixteen, felt that he could afford to remain in it a while longer. One day the professor gave him a surprise.
"Well, Charles," said Hemenway, "you take my things and put them in the car. Careful with that gun now! The Lord only knows how much time this train's going to lose. I'm going ahead to see the engineer." Angus McLeod was a grizzle-bearded Scotchman who had run a locomotive on the Intercolonial ever since the road was cut through the woods from New Brunswick to Quebec.
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