Finding himself once more in his favorite element had made him think of old times.

He wandered slowly along, recalling many a fishing frolic and boat-race he had engaged in, until a loud chatter above his head roused him from his reverie.

He looked up just in time to see a large squirrel striving to hide himself among the leaves on a tree that stood close by.

Frank's gun was at his shoulder in a moment, and taking a quick aim at the squirrel, he pulled the trigger.

But the old Springfield musket was not intended for fine shooting; for, though the shot cut the leaves all around, the squirrel escaped unhurt, and, running up to the topmost branch, again concealed himself.