210 THE FANTASIES OF FERNS 



except from the side where, in crawling down the 

 rocks, I had chanced within its range. 



How to leave it in its haunt and yet take it 

 away in a picture, how to find footing for either 

 camera or self ? After a time, however, both 

 things were accomplished, and I, too, sat down to 

 rest, propped against the same sloping, Fern -cov- 

 ered rock that had couched Flower Hat in the 

 early afternoon. All the while, above and below, 

 the Ferns wove their airy fantasies, and the locusts 

 in the lowland trees never ceased their sharp dron- 

 ing, and would not wholly desist until their tune 

 should be carried into the night in a higher key, 

 and in shriller accents, by the katydids. 



We drove along the road once more, past wood 

 and forge and mill-pond, the same homeward 

 bound road of many a day afield. On a narrow 

 stretch below the pond we turned sharply toward 

 the rising bank to make room for an ox -cart that 

 was coming up the hill laden with an aftermath of 

 fragrant Fern hay, the wind bringing news of it 

 even before the eye could distinguish its quality. 

 As it drew nearer, the silver head and long silky 

 beard of Time o' Year appeared atop the load, 

 while a bronzed youth walked beside it, guiding 



