I've polished up the iron an' I've covered it with ile, Its bit is only half an inch, its helve is half a mile. (The singer blows an imitation of the startled deer) "Whew! what's that so pesky--why, it kind o' frightened me?" "It's the wind a blowin' through the top o' the cute ol' ven'son-tree." HIM AN' ME _Being a story of the Adirondacks told by me in the words of him who had borne with buck-fever and bad marksmanship until, having been long out of meat and patiencey he put his confidence in me and we sallied forth._ We'd greased our tongues with bacon 'til they'd shy at food an' fork An' the trails o' thought were slippery an' slopin' towards New York; An' our gizzards shook an' trembled an' were most uncommon hot An' the oaths were slippin' easy from the tongue o' Philo Scott. Then skyward rose a flapjack an' a hefty oath he swore An' he spoke of all his sufferin' which he couldn't stan' no more; An' the flapjack got to jumpin' like a rabbit on the run As he give his compliments to them who couldn't p'int a gun. He told how deer would let 'em come an' stan' an' rest an' shoot An' how bold an' how insultin' they would eye the tenderfoot; How he--Fide Scott--was hankerin' fer suthin' fit to eat "------!" says he. "Le's you an' me go out an' find some meat." We paddled off a-whisperin' beneath the long birch limbs An' we snooked along as silent as a sucker when he swims; I could hear him slow his paddle as eroun' the turns he bore; I could hear his neck a-creakin' while his eye run up the shore. An' soon we come acrost a buck as big an' bold as sin An' Philo took t' swallerin' to keep his feelin's in; An' every time he swallered, as he slowly swung eroun', I could hear his Adam's apple go a-squeakin' up an' down. He sot an' worked his paddle jest as skilful as he could An' we went on slow an' careless, like a chunk o' floatin' wood: An' I kind o' shook an' shivered an' the pesky ol' canoe It seemed to feel as I did, for it shook an' shivered too. I sot there, full o' deviltry, a-p'intin' with the gun, An' we come up clost and closter, but the deer he didn't run; An' Philo shet his teeth so hard he split his brier- root As he held his breath a-waitin' an' expectin' me to shoot. I could kind o' feel him hanker, I could kind o' hear him think, An' we'd come so nigh the animal we didn't dast to wink, But I kep' on a-p'intin' of the rifle at the deer Jest as if I was expectin' fer to stick it in his ear. An' Philo tetched the gunnel soft an' shook it with his knee; I kind o' felt him nudgin' an' a-wishin' he was me,