{"product_id":"2940012074966","title":"THE TRAIL OF THE HAWK","description":"CHAPTER I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCarl Ericson was being naughty. Probably no boy in Joralemon was being\u003cbr\u003enaughtier that October Saturday afternoon. He had not half finished\u003cbr\u003ethe wood-piling which was his punishment for having chased the family\u003cbr\u003erooster thirteen times squawking around the chicken-yard, while\u003cbr\u003eplaying soldiers with Bennie Rusk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe stood in the middle of the musty woodshed, pessimistically kicking\u003cbr\u003eat the scattered wood. His face was stern, as became a man of eight\u003cbr\u003ewho was a soldier of fortune famed from the front gate to the\u003cbr\u003echicken-yard. An unromantic film of dirt hid the fact that his\u003cbr\u003eScandinavian cheeks were like cream-colored silk stained with\u003cbr\u003erose-petals. A baby Norseman, with only an average boy's prettiness,\u003cbr\u003eyet with the whiteness and slenderness of a girl's little finger. A\u003cbr\u003eback-yard boy, in baggy jacket and pants, gingham blouse, and cap\u003cbr\u003ewhose lining oozed back over his ash-blond hair, which was tangled now\u003cbr\u003elike trampled grass, with a tiny chip riding grotesquely on one flossy\u003cbr\u003elock.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe darkness of the shed displeased Carl. The whole basic conception\u003cbr\u003eof work bored him. The sticks of wood were personal enemies to which\u003cbr\u003ehe gave insulting names. He had always admired the hard bark and\u003cbr\u003emetallic resonance of the ironwood, but he hated the poplar--\"popple\"\u003cbr\u003eit is called in Joralemon, Minnesota. Poplar becomes dry and dusty,\u003cbr\u003eand the bark turns to a monstrously mottled and evil greenish-white.\u003cbr\u003eCarl announced to one poplar stick, \"I could lick you! I'm a gen'ral,\u003cbr\u003eI am.\" The stick made no reply whatever, and he contemptuously shied\u003cbr\u003eit out into the chickweed which matted the grubby back yard. This\u003cbr\u003enecessitated his sneaking out and capturing it by stalking it from the\u003cbr\u003erear, lest it rouse the Popple Army.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe loitered outside the shed, sniffing at the smoke from burning\u003cbr\u003eleaves--the scent of autumn and migration and wanderlust. He glanced\u003cbr\u003edown between houses to the reedy shore of Joralemon Lake. The surface\u003cbr\u003eof the water was smooth, and tinted like a bluebell, save for one\u003cbr\u003epatch in the current where wavelets leaped with October madness in\u003cbr\u003esparkles of diamond fire. Across the lake, woods sprinkled with\u003cbr\u003egold-dust and paprika broke the sweep of sparse yellow stubble, and a\u003cbr\u003ered barn was softly brilliant in the caressing sunlight and lively air\u003cbr\u003eof the Minnesota prairie. Over there was the field of valor, where\u003cbr\u003egrown-up men with shiny shotguns went hunting prairie-chickens; the\u003cbr\u003eGreat World, leading clear to the Red River Valley and Canada.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThree mallard-ducks, with necks far out and wings beating hurriedly,\u003cbr\u003eshot over Carl's head. From far off a gun-shot floated echoing through\u003cbr\u003eforest hollows; in the waiting stillness sounded a rooster's crow,\u003cbr\u003edistant, magical.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I want to go hunting!\" mourned Carl, as he trailed back into the\u003cbr\u003ewoodshed. It seemed darker than ever and smelled of moldy chips. He\u003cbr\u003ebounced like an enraged chipmunk. His phlegmatic china-blue eyes\u003cbr\u003efilmed with tears. \"Won't pile no more wood!\" he declared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNaughty he undoubtedly was. But since he knew that his father, Oscar\u003cbr\u003eEricson, the carpenter, all knuckles and patched overalls and bad\u003cbr\u003etemper, would probably whip him for rebellion, he may have acquired\u003cbr\u003emerit. He did not even look toward the house to see whether his mother\u003cbr\u003ewas watching him--his farm-bred, worried, kindly, small, flat-chested,\u003cbr\u003epinch-nosed, bleached, twangy-voiced, plucky Norwegian mother. He\u003cbr\u003emarched to the workshop and brought a collection of miscellaneous\u003cbr\u003enails and screws out to a bare patch of earth in front of the\u003cbr\u003echicken-yard. They were the Nail People, the most reckless band of\u003cbr\u003emercenaries the world has ever known, led by old General Door-Hinge,\u003cbr\u003ewho was somewhat inclined to collapse in the middle, but possessed of\u003cbr\u003ethe unusual virtue of eyes in both ends of him. He had explored the\u003cbr\u003edeepest cañons of the woodshed, and victoriously led his ten-penny\u003cbr\u003ewarriors against the sumacs in the vacant lot beyond Irving Lamb's\u003cbr\u003ehouse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCarl marshaled the Nail People, sticking them upright in the ground.\u003cbr\u003eAfter reasoning sternly with an intruding sparrow, thus did the\u003cbr\u003edauntless General Door-Hinge address them:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Men, there's a nawful big army against us, but le's die like men, my\u003cbr\u003emen. Forwards!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the veteran finished, a devastating fire of stones enfiladed the\u003cbr\u003ecompany, and one by one they fell, save for the commander himself, who\u003cbr\u003ebowed his grizzled wrought-steel head and sobbed, \"The brave boys done\u003cbr\u003etheir duty.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom across the lake rolled another gun-shot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCarl dug his grimy fingers into the earth. \"Jiminy! I wisht I was out\u003cbr\u003ehunting. Why can't I never go? I guess I'll pile the wood, but I'm\u003cbr\u003egonna go seek-my-fortune after that.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e       *       *","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47081045491952,"sku":"2940012074966","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012074966_p0.jpg?v=1763552506","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012074966","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}