motes of tbe 



I laughed at his suggestion, as it might readily 

 be misconstrued, and then interrupted him by say- 

 ing, " I live in the country, Bill, as you know very 

 well." 



"Yes, live in the country, but the country 

 does n't live in you," Bill retorted with a chuckle, 

 and he had said a good thing. 



It was humiliating to find that I could learn so 

 much from this unlettered aristocrat of the marshes. 

 Here was cranky Bill Pullen, as my neighbors 

 called him, telling me wholesome truths; for his 

 words, though a bit wild at times, were weightier 

 with wisdom than with nonsense. He was, in 

 fact, not merely a hunter and fisherman but a 

 " natural " philosopher, and showed how true it is 

 that freedom of action is freedom of thought, that 

 freedom of thought is freedom of expression, and 

 what is this but the very best of our literature ? 



Bill, at last, had had his say, and seeing that I 

 looked about for a seat, he gathered an armful of 

 rushes and twigs, which he wound about his arms 

 until they were interlaced, and then handed me a 

 cushion soft as the patriarchal mosses of old woods. 



" The river ain't the same all the year round, in 

 the moonlight or daytime. It 's somethin' more 

 than the water in its channel," remarked Bill, after 

 some ten minutes of silence. 



" So I was thinking when you spoke, and I wish 

 I knew just what the difference is between now 

 and last winter, for instance. It 's something 

 46 



