It was all very harmless and very funny, and
the winter wore away pleasantly enough in spite of hard luck and
hard work when there was any.
With the early thaw came change. My friends moved away to Buffalo,
and I was left for two months the sole occupant of the Romer
homestead. My last job gave out about that time, and a wheelbarrow
express which I established between Dexter-ville and the steamboat
landing on the lake refused to prosper. The idea was good enough,
but I was ahead of my time: travel on the lake had not yet begun.
With my field thus narrowed down, I fell back on my gun and some old
rat-traps I found in the woodshed. I became a hunter and trapper.
Right below me was the glen through which the creek ran on its
way to the sawmills and furniture-shops of Jamestown. It was full
of musk-rats that burrowed in its banks between the roots of dead
hemlocks and pines. There I set my traps and baited them with carrots
and turnips. The manner of it was simple enough. I set the trap
on the bottom of the creek and hung the bait on a stick projecting
from the bank over it, so that to get at it the rat had to step on
the trap.
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