Edwy had been called “The Little Trapper.” He had read every book he could find about animals. After reading some of them, he would be the “warrior bold”; would long to be old enough to shoot and slay and pursue big game through the forest spaces, but bless his heart, he hadn’t the least idea that there was any tragedy in it. He had made box-traps with his own hands, but in such a way, however, that it would hardly frighten the little creatures to be caught, for he would only keep the little prisoners an hour, or a minute perhaps, feed them, and let them go free.

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