HI-BUB's daddy went away on a short business trip. Such journeys occurred at intervals, and they were a matter of much interest to Hi-Bub. Not that he knew anything about the business involved. As far as he was concerned that was just an incident. The important thing was that when Daddy returned, with him would come a thoughtful present for Hi-Bub.

When the fond daddy returned from his autumn journey, Hi-Bub was in possession of a gift that concerned me almost as much as it did him. It was a shiny new box cameral I was closely connected with the deal. I had recommended that Hi-Bub be introduced to photography to broaden his interest in nature. Furthermore, I had promised to teach him the use of the camera and to help him learn the art of camera hunting.

It is my conviction that the camera habit is good medicine for the mind. All that is learned from this fine hobby is constructive. Beauty, as everyone knows, is not something that resides in nature. Beauty is a quality of human thought. The more we cultivate this quality by seeking the world's loveliness, the more beauty we find. Just as a muscle is strengthened with use, so this precious talent is developed by exercise. A camera demands that you diligently seek the better views of nature and life. It keeps you thinking in terms of beauty.

In nature the camera has another outstanding virtue. It leads its user to think in terms of life. The camera hunter does not want to destroy and disturb the creatures of forest and field. An animal or a plant is a good subject only so long as it is alive and interesting.

For these reasons I wanted my friend Hi-Bub to begin a career as a photographer. The camera he had would never have excited the envy of Hollywood camera men. It had a fixed focus and its lens was only a little stronger than a window glass. But it would take pictures, and that was enough for Hi-Bub. I remember so well the way he looked when his daddy brought him to the island. The boy could hardly wait for the boat to reach the shore. He came bounding out, his little overnight bag in one hand and this precious new possession in the other, crying, "Tham Cammel, Tham Cammell"

"What in the world is it, Hi-Bub?" I asked.

"It'th a camera, it'th a camera, it ith, it ith," he sputtered. "All you do ith preth this thingamajig and it take-th pictures!"

Giny came running down to see the new contraption. Hi-Bub showed us how to use the view finder, and then thought the camera was broken when his own hand got in the way of the finder and shut off the image.

"I see where we have a job on hand, old top," I said, delighted at the prospect. "No doubt you'll find there is more to taking pictures than just pressing down on that thingamajig. What do you say—shall we start out to make an entire album of our animal friends?"

Nothing could please Hi-Bub more. The task was more difficult than he supposed, however. Picturing animals is not easy, not even friendly ones such as dwell on our island. They aren't interested in photography, and have a rare faculty for doing just what they shouldn't do from the camera angle.

Our first attempt was with Stubby the chipmunk. This little rascal had never shown the least timidity around us. It was not uncommon for him to run all over me, in and out of my pockets, down my neck, or perch on my head. We thought his picture was going to be easy.

Hi-Bub selected a spot where we would have the advantage of sunlight, sat down and began calling, "Here, Stubby, here, Stubby."

Stubby came on the run. When he was within ten feet of the waiting boy he stopped for some reason. He started to chirp, why I do not know. There was nothing new around except the camera, and that wasn't so vicious-looking. We coaxed, we begged, we even threatened a littlebut Stubby just crouched inside a shadow and scolded. HiBub offered him peanuts but the chipmunk wouldn't come.

At last, after fifteen minutes of patient pleading, the tiny creature suddenly darted up to Hi-Bub and ran to his shoulder to get a peanut. I hurried back in position with the camera. By the time I had found the small image in the view finder, Stubby had the peanut and dashed away. No picture. We waited fifteen minutes for his return. By this time the sun had moved and a heavy shadow covered the spot we had chosen for the scene.

Next we tried Salt. He came waddling down the path apparently with no ambition or object in life. I picked him up and carried him to a spot of sunshine, figuring it didn't make any difference to him where he was anyway. Hi-Bub knelt beside him and I stepped back to take the scene. Whereupon Salt moved over under some brush and with a heavy sigh lay down. We carried him out again. This time I tried to hold him while Hi-Bub took the picture. Salt wiggled around until his back was toward the camera. I turned him about, getting some of his quills in my hand while doing so. Then I forcefully held him in a fairly favorable position, calling to Hi-Bub to get the picture quickly. First Hi-Bub couldn't find the image in the view finder. Then he couldn't find the thingamajig to push. By the time he did find it Salt had twisted out of my grasp. Hi-Bub hurriedly snapped the scene. Days later when it came back developed, it showed a blur where Salt should be and my mouth was wide open as if I were trying to bite him.

Next it was Still-Mo. She was much more co-operative. Right into the sunlight she came, jumping to my hand to get the peanuts I offered. The only trouble was the picture had to be snapped at just the right moment or it was lost. The red squirrel wasn't sitting around posing for anyone. It was all business with her. She came to get food. There was just one instant when a picture could be made. That was when she was taking a peanut and fitting it between her teeth. Prior to that, she was coming too fast, after that she was going too fast. Hi-Bub took picture after picture. Fortunately such small film is not expensive. The first picture showed nothing but my hand where Still-Mo had been. The next was a blur made as she dashed away. So was the next and the next. At last, HiBub had taken one that gave promise of being everything we wanted. Still-Mo sat for a moment examining a peanut that had the shell broken, and she was making sure she wanted it. It was a perfect opportunity—only Hi-Bub had forgotten to turn the film after taking the previous scene, and we had a beautiful double exposure.

It took many hours of work before Hi-Bub had his first success. Finally, though, his album held the likenesses of Blooey, Still-Mo, Beggar Boy, Stubby and Salt. There were some pictures of white-throated sparrows, song sparrows, and chickadees too—but they were the kind that needed the comment, "It may not look like it, but that dot on the ground is a bird."

Although the little box camera was hardly suitable for such work, we tried for pictures of shore-line animals anyway. There was an old blue heron who permitted us to get close enough to make a fairly acceptable view. A muskrat swam near our boat and Hi-Bub "shot" him—that is, most of him. The animal's head got out of the picture, though his tail was there and the wake he was making through the water. A frog who was so sleepy he couldn't move anyway made a very good subject.

Most of all Hi-Bub yearned for a picture of Specks. It was like asking for a miracle. Seldom had we seen the beautiful fawn in the daytime, and the few times we had he had been quite shy. Nevertheless we decided we would try to get him.

Early one morning we went out on a trail in the forest where Specks lived. It was a bright morning. The sunshine was streaming through the trees, laying a delicate pattern of shadows on the forest floor. "If we could find Specks in a place like this, Hi-Bub, I believe we could get his picture," I said to the anxious lad.

"Oh boy, oh boy," he exclaimed, fixing his camera all ready for action in the way I had taught him.

"Remember, if you see him, don't hurry," I cautioned. "You must get close to him or it won't be a good picture. Move up slowly and quietly—you know, the way an Indian would do."

"Uh-huh," said Hi-Bub.

We went silently down the trail. The day was filled with autumn splendor. The forest was colorful as a flower garden. Crows and jays were giving their fall cries. Squirrels were scurrying about gathering food. Chickadees talked to us as we moved along.

Then suddenly Hi-Bub stopped and pointed ahead. At the top of a little rise stood a beautiful fawn right in the middle of our trail.

"It's Thpeckth," he said in a whisper, so excited he was lisping extra. "It'th Thpeckth, Tham Cammel."

"Maybe it is," I whispered back. "Looks like him anyway. Easy now—we must get closer. Is your camera all ready?"

Hi-Bub gave it a quick glance. Yes, it was all ready, the thingamajig in place and everything. Then we moved toward the young deer. He had not discovered us as yet.

Hi-Bub led the way. Really, he did a good job of stalking the animal. He carefully chose his steps so as not to rustle leaves or crack twigs. The fawn was eating something on the ground. Hi-Bub ceased moving whenever the deer's head came up. When he reached down again, the boy took more steps in his direction.

"When you are level with that birch tree ahead, you'll be close enough for the picture," I breathed in the boy's ear, indicating a tree still fifty feet beyond. "Don't get excited. Don't get buck fever the way some hunters do."

"I won't," he said, as he resumed his silent march.

I sank to my knees in a shadow to let Hi-Bub go on alone. It was fun to watch him. There was nothing novicelike in the way he did this. He was steady, cool and thoughtful. Getting this picture was the most important thing in the world for him at the moment. He was determined to do it right.

Now comes the part of this story I do not like to write. It is no doubt an indication of good that we love happy endings and always seek to avoid evil. Intuitively we know that life is meant to be harmonious. Yet in our human mental make-up there are still phases of evil which bring into experience events which hurt and grieve. Because we know they are wrong is evidence that sooner or later we shall correct them. But until we do, our hearts are going to be heavy at times.

Hi-Bub reached the position beside the birch tree. Still the fawn did not see him or else did not feel frightened.

Hi-Bub raised the view finder to his eye. His finger reached for the thingamajig. Then suddenly I heard a little twang—a sound foreign to our woods. Hi-Bub looked up, startled. Something had happened to the fawn. The creature gave a little bleat something like that of a lamb. He whirled and started to run. Then he collapsed into a quivering pathetic little heap, and I saw to my horror that an arrow was buried in his breast.

"Tham Cammel, Tham Cammel, Tham Cammel," cried Hi-Bub in confusion. "What'th happened to Thpeckth, what—" His sentence broke off in a sob.

I hurried to him and whispered in his ear what words of comfort I could think of in the distress of the moment. How I wished I might have saved him from this meeting with the world’s rougher ways! Surely I did not expect he would find it in our Sanctuary. I asked him to stay where he was, and rushed over to the wounded fawn. One glance told me there was nothing I could do for the creature.

The hunter who had shot the arrow approached from the opposite direction, bow in hand, a quiver full of arrows on his back. I had a battle with my own thinking as I saw him. He was a robust fellow whom I might have liked to meet in other circumstances. Now, however, resentment and almost hatred were trying to rule my thoughts.

I am not so foolish in my love of nature as to believe hunting should be or could be banished from the whole forest. Wild life, as we know it now, requires this harvesting. Feeding areas are limited and various species might easily increase to a point where they would bring about their own tragedy. Yet hunting should be done with a minimum of cruelty and a maximum of sportsmanship. Certainly there was no semblance of sportsmanship in selecting this innocent fawn as a target.

"You did this?" I asked the man as he neared me.

He nodded his head.

"I'm at a loss to know what to say to you," I declared, striving to keep anger down. "I could have you arrested. You are on my property, which is posted against hunting. You are within a State Game Refuge. Hunting is never permitted here."

The man stared at me in surprise. It was obvious that he did not know he had come over the refuge line.

"You needn't fear. I won't seek your arrest," I continued. "That would not bring back this fawn, nor would it stop the tears of that boy. Regardless of the law, I say you should be ashamed to shoot at a tiny creature like that. He was not over five months old. He still has his baby spots. He was so unafraid he made no effort to run, even with three of us stalking him. If those facts don't make you ashamed, no fine the court could impose would correct you."

These words were uttered in as calm a voice as I could command. I try to school myself not to want revenge but correction in the world. Hi-Bub's unceasing sobs gave a dramatic background to my speech.

The man looked at me without belligerence or challenge. When he spoke his voice was low, his manner humble. "I wonder if you will believe me," he said. "I'm not trying to escape any punishment when I say I am ashamed."

That instant my estimate of the man began to change. It takes courage and character for one to admit he is wrong. It is so much easier to hang doggedly to our mistakes than to correct them. He continued to talk with obvious sincerity.

"I don't know why I did that. Certainly I didn't know I was in a refuge. I'm a stranger in the woods. And I am a beginner with this thing." He indicated the bow he held in his hand. "I really never had the slightest notion I could hit anything I aimed at—I never have before. I saw the fawn and I shot —I don't know why. Believe me when I say I'd give a lot if that arrow had never left my bow."

Now the man looked toward Hi-Bub. "May I speak to him?" he asked. I nodded. "I have one at home about his size," he added, as he went over and knelt beside the heartbroken boy.

It was then that I saw a man punished for an error so severely that it was certain he would never commit the same mistake again. He expressed his sorrow to Hi-Bub. It might have been expected that Hi-Bub would repel him, or cry out against the act in some expression of resentment. Not Hi-Bub, though. The hunter had said, "Sonny, I am sorry, so sorry that if I dared I would be crying the way you are."

Then the boy revealed to me anew the uncomprehended and inexhaustible power of love. To my surprise he whirled about and threw his arms around the hunter. He buried his face in the neck and shoulder of the man and murmured between sobs, "It'th all right, mithter, I gueth you didn't know." He even reached up with his hand and patted the cheek of the hunter to comfort him.

That man would never do such a thing again. He vowed it as he left us, taking his bow and the fawn with him. HiBub had said more to him by his act than I had by my words. The boy had brought into play the highest sense of law. From his own spirit he had spoken to the true selfhood of the hunter, reminding him that kindness and decency are natural to man and that they truly govern the universe.

Hi-Bub needed a lot of mothering and fathering that evening. Giny and I stayed beside his bed until he was sound asleep. He held to our hands tightly, making sure we would not leave him.

"Tham Cammel," he said, his voice softer than usual.

"Yes, little pal."

"I gueth I have to have Little John Deer Foot again." He was very serious.

"Well, I am sure he will come, Hi-Bub," I answered.

"You thee, Little John can help so much," he went on with an occasional sniff thrown in. "He can find Thpeckth' mother and make her happy. Maybe he could find her another baby deer. I gueth I kinda need him."

"I am glad you do, Hi-Bub," I declared. "In truth, to night I need him too."

Hi-Bug's photographic game bag was soon bulging. He caught a picture of Amos, Andy and the Kingfish lined up begging him for food. A game warden who had livetrapped some beavers and was transporting them for release elsewhere paused until the little box camera had recorded their images. The much-wanted picture of a fawn was obtained at a resort where one of the creatures came to the kitchen door daily. Near this place a black bear was snapped too-in the unromantic setting of a garbage pit. It wasn't a very good picture, for the bear was far away and tin cans were scattered about in the foreground. Hi-Bub prized it, though. He had a good view of a skunk. The little striped animal must have had some vanity in him, for he posed perfectly, though Hi-Bub went much closer to him than is generally advisable with such a creature.

He was becoming so adept at handling his simple little camera that already there were plans afoot for getting him a better one.

On the last night before Giny and I departed once again for our winter's work, we held a farewell campfire party at the Sanctuary. The air was frosty, but our fire was large and we huddled close to it. Ada, Ray and June were there. So were Hi-Bub and his parents-and Hobo, too.

Presently someone suggested that we go to the salt lick to see if we could find Specks's mother. We had felt no interest in returning to that spot after the sad experience with the bow-and-arrow hunter. Now time had healed our thoughts somewhat and we went in search of the beautiful doe.

We crossed by boat to the mainland and, flashlights in hand, started down the trail to the salt lick. Hobo, as usual, went bounding far ahead of us, looking for his playmate. There was, of course, no way to tell the dog of our loss.

Hobo immediately found something to excite him, however. Long before we reached the salt lick we heard him racing about yelping in tones that sounded quite happy. We hurried a bit, wondering if he had forgotten the lesson of the pliers and was bothering some wild creature.

When our lights revealed the cause of the sounds, however, we found that Hobo was playing with a fawn! This playmate was chasing him and being chased—just as Specks had often done in the past. The fawn knew just what to do. He was leading the dog over logs and over brush piles, having a wonderful time. Then to our amazement, when Hobo ran up to tell us what fun this was, the fawn came along I

"It’th Thpeckth, Tham Cammel!" cried Hi-Bubo

"Thpeckth has come back!"

Sure enough, it was Specks—alive, well, sprightly—with not so much as a scar on his lovely neck! We all laughed in sheer delight.

Hi-Bub tugged at me until I bent down to hear his whisper.

"Sam Cammel—what was that, you know what I mean—on the trail? Did we just dream it?" he asked seriously.

"Maybe you are right, Hi-Bub, maybe you are right," I whispered back. "Come, let's watch Hobo and Specks, aren't they having fun?"

Back at the campfire our songs were stronger and more joyous that night. A friendship had been saved.

It was time to go and we were ready. The animals of the island were busy with their preparations for winter.

Amos, Andy and the Kingfish were sound asleep in a protected spot under our cabin. Salt was high and happy in a pine tree.

Hi-Bub had so much to think about he was not the least distressed at our departure. A new camera had arrived, and it had so many thingamajigs to push and press he was bewildered. Besides, Giny and I had given him a promise. I spread a map of the Canadian canoe country before him and helped him mentally picture the wilderness lake we had found in that grand country. "Someday we'll take you to that lake, Hi-Bub," I said, and added quickly, "when you are a little older, a little stronger and a little taller."

The prospect fired the ever-ready imagination of our lad. His parents surely wished I had never mentioned the matter. Their house was converted into the Canadian wilderness by Hi-Bub. Rugs were lakes and he paddled across them in canoes which strangely resembled overturned chairs. Floor lamps became pine trees, foot stools were animals, and Hobo kept pace with it all, not knowing just what was going on, but determined not to be left out. A tent was pitched in the parlor, though it took up so much space that Hi-Bub's mother and father could hardly get into the room. At least once a week Hi-Bub's mother had to measure him to see if he was growing. She examined his muscles to see if strength was coming, and she checked months off on a calendar to assure him he was getting older. Hi-Bub was going on a canoe trip-there was no doubt about it.

A pleasing bit of news about Big John Shawano came to us. A young man of Indian blood was coming to live with him for the winter. It would crowd the small cabin, but Big John was more than anxious for his friend to come. This young man could read, and through the long winter months he would reveal to John the sacred contents of his beloved "Big Book."

Giny and I stood taking one last look at the wooded shore lines of our lake before we left.

"What do you suppose the forest will have to offer us in the way of adventure when we return in the spring?" I ventured.

Giny contemplated the green mansions that stretched endlessly into the distance. It was a reservoir of interest and experience which could never be exhausted. Then with wisdom she said, "We shall see the same old wonderful things in a marvelous new way."