dissembled in the handle, a pair of small folding-scissors, admirably adapted to embroidery work. There was really nothing to which a Pioneer would wish to turn his hand for which, with this knife, he would find himself unequipped. With the large blade, for instance, the felling of timber would have been the merest child's play. There was a tree near my home which I often in those days measured with my eye while waiting for that amount of money, which alone would satisfy the exorbitant King, to come my way. It was a pine tree of which the best log cabins are made. But the knife went otherwhere, and in consequence the pine tree still stands.
In like manner with this knife (with his father indeed—for here surely is heredity at work) James, son of Joe, is suitable for everything and competent in every sphere. Of his age, he is the most remarkable person alive. He has, however, one defect. He knows nothing about fish. Nothing whatever. I will prove it.
This morning he informed me with delight—for he loves me, I think—that a great trout lie by wooden bridge. He measured preposterous lengths on his arm, and finally decided on the distance between his finger-tip and three inches below his shoulder-blade. James, his arms are long, and it was clear to me that in the matter of
