SAG 83 



about them. Geese paddle serenely in the quarry 

 holes and in the creek. 



On the other side of the valley we ascend, 

 quaff deeply of the fine artesian water, turn 

 to note the picturesque view and to bid fare- 

 well to the church's heaven-pointing spire, and 

 then turn westward along the road that leads 

 over the upland. Presently we climb over a 

 fence, stop to laugh at a nest of young wood- 

 peckers deep in a hollowed stump, and pass along 

 the edge of a delicious field of red clover in per- 

 fection of bloom to the head of one of the ravines 

 that everywhere cut the sides of the great valleys. 



Birds of many kinds seek nestings in these 

 quiet places, and in the late afternoon, with the 

 shadows falling long, flecking the bowlders lying 

 thick in the streamlet, we lovingly and quietly 

 follow it to its outlet into the great valley. 



When some one from the effete East tells you 

 that Chicago is uninteresting because it has no 

 history and no scenery, take him to Sag; set him 

 on the edge of the pasture back of the church- 

 yard; show him the quarries of limestone age- 

 long accumulations of tiny wornout bodies ; tell him 

 the story of the great glaciers and the icy rivers that 

 once flowed here ; show him the long, placid, mir- 

 rored vistas of the old canal where once pioneers 



