The sky was all crimson and gold in the east. We looked toward Mt. Gilboa; the red face of the sun began to show itself. As it rose above the hill, we heard the stroke of the bell. "Some one's d-dead.--Hark! Only one stroke. It's a child. One for a c-child, two for a woman, and three strokes for a man." "I know who it is. Father was called up to Sam Hadley's last night. Little Benoni Mead was very poorly, and they didn't think he'd last through the night." Poor little Benoni! His father, Cornelius Mead, had died of camp fever in the war; his mother and he had come on the town for support, and had been boarded with her brother, Sam Hadley, not far from Bull Meadow Hill. Benoni had always been ailing, and of late had failed rapidly. [Sidenote: ANOTHER FLIGHT OF PIGEONS] "Well, boys," said Davy, "let's get back to work. It won't do Benoni any good to be mooning round." We watched for pigeons again, and another small flight came along. We worked our decoys and got twenty. After that we waited a long time,--till nearly nine o'clock. Then Davy and I gave it up, and decided to go home. Davy had some work to do. But Amos said he would stay a little while longer. We made a division of our pigeons, and Davy and I started for home. We had not gone more than half a mile when we saw a terrible big flight. "I wonder if Amos will get a shot at them, Ben. Let's get back as quick as we can. We may be in time." We threw down our pigeons, and made through the woods as fast as we could. As we were running up the hill, we heard a bang. "Confound the luck," said Davy, "we're just too late! Let's hurry up and help Amos." When we got to the top of the hill Amos was running round, twisting the necks of the wounded pigeons. As soon as he saw us, he stood up and began:-- "H-H-He--" But he was too excited, and couldn't get the words out. He pointed to the pigeons, and kept on catching them and twisting their necks. We did the same. When we got through, Davy asked, "What was it that you were saying to us when we got here? I didn't quite catch it." "No! It sort er st-stuck on the way; 'h-help me' is pretty hard to say sometimes. I t-t-tell you, b-boys, there was millions of 'em, an-and I guess I shot a barrel full. When I saw that b-big flight coming, I wished you were here, and then I was g-glad you were not. For I w-wanted to see h-how many I should get. They came just like a b-big cloud, and began to light on that p-pole, and the air was just f-full of them. You c-couldn't see anything but pigeons. I blazed away, and the ground was c-covered with them. "I was t-tickled enough to see you fellows jump in and help me. I w-wonder how many there are. Let's count them." [Sidenote: AMOS MAKES A GREAT SHOT] We gathered them up, and there were fifty-two. "Hurrah! One f-for every week in the year!" Amos had a good many adventures in his life afterward, fighting with the French and Indians. But that shot was the one particular thing that made life a joy to him.