THE KIVERS' FOUNTAIN HEADS. 159 



as nerve and muscle cells could act and react, 

 he went, his bushy tail waving in the stiff breeze. 

 Tip a few feet on a red oak, and then a maple, 

 down from each, onward he sped, these tactics 

 being to throw me off the track did I possess the 

 power of following by scent. His course was in 

 a bee line toward a sturdy white oak where a 

 hollow limb furnishes protection against the 

 breezes and the leaden pellets of man. 



Third, the grasshoppers or locusts, red-legged, 

 sulphur-winged and clouded, leaping merrily 

 from my pathway ; all enjoying the warmth of 

 sunshine, then brightly diffused, but now shut 

 off by gray murky clouds which threaten a 

 down-pour. 



Since I last saw these boulders I have floated 

 in a row boat nearly the full length of the pret- 

 tiest river in Indiana the Tippecanoe. That 

 journey but increased my love for the wood- 

 land streams, such as the one before me. They 

 alone make the rivers possible. They are the 

 fountain heads, the silent sources, the branches 

 which pay increasing tribute to the greater 

 streams. From between the layers of stone or 



