The boy plied his hoe in a listless manner, for his thoughts were
elsewhere. Several hundred yards to the right stood the forest,
glorious in its brilliant autumn hues. There among those trees the
wary partridges were feeding or perching temptingly upon bough,
fallen log or ragged stump. To the left the waters of the noble
River St. John rippled and sparkled beneath the glowing sun. Over
there amidst that long stretch of marshland, in many a cove and
reedy creek, the wild ducks were securely hidden. What connection
had a rugged, stirring lad with a brown sombre potato patch when
the strong insistent voice of the wild was calling him to fields
afar? There was no inspiration here - among these straggling rows.
Nothing to thrill a boy's heart, or to send the blood surging and
tingling through his body. But there - He sighed as he leaned upon
his hoe and looked yearningly around. Down on the shore; in a
sheltered cove among the trees, the Scud, a small boat, was idly
flapping her dirty patched sail.
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