208 In Touch with Nature. 



I have been drifting in the canoe for an hour 

 and the east grows gray. Afar off, there is the 

 half-uttered note of a sleepy bird that dies upon 

 the river. I have to be more than watchful to 

 catch the next note that comes, but as the light 

 strengthens, a hundred voices announce the dawn, 

 and the wide world is again astir. A filmy thread 

 of smoke rises from the woods, and why be so 

 prosy as to think of farmers and the kitchen 

 stove ? As yet, civilization has nowhere marred 

 the broad landscape, so why not this thread of 

 smoke the sign of an Indian camp ; or, perhaps, 

 of more gloomy import ? Here is what a close 

 observer writes me of Indian mortuary customs : 

 "According to local tradition, the Indians never 

 buried their dead in this part of the Delaware 

 valley, but placed them in the sun to dry, cover- 

 ing the bodies with bark and leaves. When thus 

 laid out they were carefully watched and fires kept 

 burning to keep wild animals away. After a certain 

 time the bodies were burned. This crude tradition 

 is verified, I think, by the numerous stone graves 

 or cists found in this neighborhood. The stones 

 forming the framework of the graves were flat 



