Mexico Missouri Message

Bobby the Hunter.

Why He Concluded He Would Prefer Shooting at a Mark Than at Birds.

Bobby was wild with excitement. He was going into the woods, a real sure-enough camping out, with pine boughs for beds, and things cooked over a camp fire and hunting and fishing.

For one thing, he wouldn't fire at marks any longer. He would get real game, and catch real fish, and when Uncle Jim told some of his bear yarns, he would have a yarn of his own to spin.

But he had no idea the woods could be so awfully lonesome. It took him two days to go five trees away from the tent by himself. He counted the trees, because then he could count back.

On the third morning he closed his lips firmly and walked 12 trees from the tent. Then he sat down, with an arrow fitted in his bowstring, and waited. Uncle Jim always went into the wildest part of the forest for his bears and things, and this was certainly wild and remote, for he could only barely see the camp kettle hanging under the forked sticks.

Presently a beautiful blue bird, almost exactly like the bluejay in his picture book, flew to a low branch not ten feet away.

His eyes glistened as he stretched the bowstring. He would not be play-hunter any more, but a real one. The bluejay cocked his head on one side and nodded. Bobby stared and then waited to admire the beautiful markings of the wings and head.

He remembered how the game which Uncle Jim brought into the camp looked, and how sorry he felt when he saw the poor limp forms and closed eyes. Would this beautiful bird look that way after he shot it?

Slowly the bowstring slackened. He rose and walked thoughtfully back to camp. Uncle Jim was mending a net.

"Well, Nimrod," Uncle Jim called, "what luck?"

Bobby flushed, but his voice did not falter.

"Uncle Jim," he said, "I believe I'd rather shoot at marks."—Boston Globe