"Christie handed me the gun, motioning me to move quietly. I must have lost my head, for all the first principles of moose-hunting slipped out of my mind, as I aimed at the high shoulders of the old bull, hoping to secure his antlers as a trophy. When I fired the doe and the fawn scrambled down hill towards the beaver-meadow below. I could see that the bull was not with them, and concluded that he was dead. Rushing forward without reloading my gun, to my great astonishment I found him on his knees, wounded. As soon as he saw me he rose to his full height, his eyes flashing fire, and lowering his horns in a forward position, he sprang at me. Dropping my gun I stepped behind a huge beech tree, the moose following close upon my heels. I had just time to get behind it when he rushed past, tearing the bark with his antlers. He turned and made another charge, only to find that I was in a safe position on the opposite side of the tree. Rushing up to the tree he struck it furiously with his horns, then with his hoofs, uttering loud snorts that were enough to intimidate even a military man. The disappointment which the enraged animal felt at seeing my escape added to his rage, and he vented his spite upon the tree until the trunk, to the height of six feet, was completely stripped of its bark. While this was going on I remained behind the tree, dodging round, always taking care to keep the infuriated brute on the opposite side. For over an hour this lasted. I was beginning to feel faint with fatigue. I could see that the bullet had hit the left shoulder, and, after tearing the skin, had glanced off."

"She went to comfort poor Sarah as soon as she heard of the accident," replied Chrissy.


Chilled by her brother's remark, Abbie retorted: