Rolf In The Woods
"Now, what will you do with him?" asked Rolf.
"Train coon dog," was the answer.
The Indian pointed toward the Asamuk Pond.
"Are you the singing Indian that lives under Ab's Rock?
"Ugh!* Some call me that. My name is Quonab."
"Wait for an hour and then I will come and help," volunteered Rolf impulsively, for the hunting instinct was strong in him.
The Indian nodded. "Give three yelps if you no find me;" then he shouldered a short stick, from one end of which, at a safe distance from his back, hung the bag with the coon. And Rolf went home with the cow.
He had acted on hasty impulse in offering to come, but now, in the normal storm state of the household, the difficulties of the course appeared. He cudgelled his brain for some plan to account for his absence, and finally took refuge unwittingly in ancient wisdom: "When you don't know a thing to do, don't do a thing." Also, "If you can't find the delicate w
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