IN THE STEPS OF COWS. 79 



Here I paused, and again the legend of blue- 

 jays allured me. From the bars, turning 

 sharply to one side, were the tracks of cows. 

 The strange feeling of oppression vanished. 

 Wherever the gentle beasts had passed, I could 

 go, sure of finding sunny openings, grassy spots, 

 and nothing uncanny. Meekly I followed in 

 their footsteps; the solemn grandeur of the 

 forest had so stirred me that even the footprint 

 of a cow was companionable. 



This path led down through a pleasant fringe 

 of beech and birch and maple trees to a beauti- 

 ful brook, which was easily crossed on stones, 

 then up the bank on the other side into an open 

 pasture with scattering spruce and other trees. 

 Now I began to look for my bluejays. I dis- 

 turbed the peace of a robin, who scolded me 

 roundly from the top spire of a spruce. I 

 started out in hot haste a dainty bit of bird life 

 — the black and yellow warbler. I listened to 

 the delightsome song of the field-sparrow. I 

 heard the far-off drumming of the partridge. 

 I walked and climbed myself tired. 



Then I sat down to wait. I made a nosegay 

 of blue violets and sweetbrier leaves ; I regaled 

 myseK with wintergreens in memory of my child- 

 hood; I wrote up my note-book; but never a 

 blue feather did I see. 



The next day, between showers, I tried the 



