Towser was anxious to get at the woodchuck. Everytime we boys rolled off a stone, he would jam his head into the wall, so anxious was he to get at his prey, while poor little Skip, who should have had the honor, was up under the white birch tree trying to break the chain and come down and help, not even minding his bleeding ear, where Towser had bit him. At last the right stone was removed and the unfortunate old woodchuck could do no better than face grim death, and he did it bravely. Standing on his little hind legs, with his front paws extended, he chattered defiance, while snapping his white teeth and awaiting the onslaught. Towser plunged into the wall and out came the woodchuck, but to our surprise, Towser had not got the woodchuck, but the woodchuck had Towser right by the nose. Over and over they rolled as the blood squirted from the dog's nose, each sommersault working them farther and farther down the swale in the direction of the woodchuck's hole. Towser roared, bellowed and squealed, but the woodchuck would not let go his lucky hold. We boys saw the danger of escape and I, seizing a club, started on to help Towser, while Gordon ran to unchain Skip, as it began to look now as if old Skip's help might be necessary after all. The clever old woodchuck, who was watching to take advantage of the first favorable opportunity, when he saw Skip coming, let go his grip and started for his hole. Towser, who was also figuring for his own personal safety, when released, curled his tail between his legs and started for home, crying "ki-yi-yi-yi." Skip bounded forward just in time to seize his woodchuckship by the tail, just as he was entering the hole. Now a desperate struggle ensued, the woodchuck trying to pull the dog into the hole and the dog trying to pull the woodchuck out. Skip was losing ground, when, seizing him by the hind legs, I planted my bare feet in the gravel and pulled with all my might. The woodchuck chattered and squealed, the dog shook and growled, as I pulled them out, when the tail broke, he darted into the hole, and the game was lost. Then we boys took Skip up to the spring and washed his poor bleeding ear and promised him right then and there that we would take Towser back to Mr. Holmes and that he, Skip, might run the farm as long as he lived. Lemuel Warner followed up the woodchuck story by acting out, in his genial manner, the stuttering man trying to testify in prayer-meeting. Orino Richardson and Perlin Richardson came in with their extremely ridiculous tales, followed by hymns and old plantation songs. In all this we seemed to forget ourselves, with the fifty years of ups and down on Life's tempestuous waves, and in friendly glee we were back again in that fair morning, dreamily anticipating Life's strange journey, so unlike the reality fond memory now reveals.