148 VIRGINIA 



lowed the tortuous, deeply worn bed of a 

 brook through a narrow pass between steep, 

 sparsely wooded, rocky hills. Along the 

 bank grew plenty of the common rhododen- 

 dron, now in early bud, and on either side 

 of the path were trailing arbutus and other 

 early flowers. Yes, I had found the spring, 

 not summer. And the birds bore the same 

 testimony : thrashers, chippers, field sparrows, 

 black-and-white creepers, and a Carolina 

 chickadee. Summer birds, like summer 

 flowers, were yet to come. A brief song, 

 repeated at intervals from the ragged, half- 

 cleared hillside near a house, as I returned 

 to the village, puzzled me agreeably. It 

 should be the voice of a Bewick's wren, I 

 thought, but the notes seemed not to tally 

 exactly with my recollections of a year ago, 

 on Missionary Ridge. However, I made 

 only a half-hearted attempt to decide the 

 point. There would be time enough for 

 such investigations by and by. Meanwhile, 

 it would be a poor beginning to take a first 

 walk in a new country without bringing 

 back at least one uncertainty for expectation 

 to feed upon. It is always part of to-day's 

 wisdom to leave something for to-morrow's 



