2 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



by the delicate etching of birches and elms. 

 The air was in that condition which favors the 

 carriage of distant sounds. I heard the rumble 

 of trains on the Fitchburg, Massachusetts Cen- 

 tral and Albany railways on the one hand and 

 of those on the Northern roads on the other. 

 Now and then the tooting whistle of a train 

 sounded like the hooting of a mammoth owl. 



Entering the woods, I found written upon the 

 snow the records of those who had travelled 

 there before me. A boy with his sled had been 

 across to a pond in the hollow. A dog had fol- 

 lowed him, running first to one side, then to the 

 other. Further on I struck another track. The 

 prints were smaller than the dog's, round, and 

 in a single line, spaced quite evenly, like those 

 of a fox. Somebody's cat had been hunting on 

 her own account. In an open space, bunches 

 of golden rod and asters had been pulled to 

 pieces, and all around their stalks the footprints 

 of small birds, perhaps goldfinches or redpolls, 

 were thick. Not far away the snow on an open 

 hillside was pencilled by the rising stems of 

 barberry bushes. From the pine woods to these 

 bushes numerous tiny paths led. The most 

 dainty feet had printed their story there. The 

 journeys seemed to have been made in dark- 

 ness, for the paths made queer curves, loops, 

 false starts into the open pasture and quick re- 



