A Victim of Thoreau. 67 



old man thrust his cane at the frog before him, 

 sending it spinning into the brook. 



" May I ask who you are and where you come 

 from ?" I asked, with some impatience, for the old 

 fellow thoroughly puzzled me. 



" Not who I am," he replied, " nor where from ; 

 but I will venture this far with you, stranger, to 

 tell you how I live. Nine months in the year I'm 

 like the frog I stirred up just now. I squat where 

 it suits me, and stick until some fellow-creature 

 comes along with a cane and sends me afloat to 

 squat on the nearest flat stone I come to. There's 

 that frog, a yard or two farther down the brook, 

 and there he'll stick until forced to get up, I sup- 

 pose ; and so it's been with me. I've never found 

 a seat that the world did not force me to quit ; 

 and I've never been able to see why I am not 

 one of the world as well as the crowd that jos- 

 tles me." 



" How do you expect to get food and clothing 

 if you sit still all day ?'' 



" I can get them as easily as did the savages 

 from whom we all came ; but there, too, at every 

 turn I'm headed off. Some one claims the wild 



