eral downpour and the softened noise that it 

 made through the woods. I had often been out 

 in rains on the Rockies, but this one was wet- 

 ting the earth with less effort than any I had 

 ever experienced. For half an hour no air 

 stirred; then, while crossing a small irregular 

 opening in the woods, I was caught in a storm- 

 centre of wrangling winds and waters, and now 

 and then their weight would almost knock me 

 over, until, like a sapling, I bowed, streaming, 

 in the storm. The air was full of "water-dust," 

 and, once across the open, I made haste to hug 

 a tree, hoping to find a breath of air that was 

 not saturated to strangulation. 



Neither bird nor beast had been seen, nor did 

 I expect to come upon any, unless by chance 

 my movements drove one from its refuge; but 

 while I sat on a sodden log, reveling in elemental 

 moods and sounds, a water-ouzel came flying 

 along. He alighted on a boulder which the on- 

 sweeping stream at my feet seemed determined 

 to drown or dislodge, and, making his usual 

 courtesies, he began to sing. His melody is 

 penetrating; but so sustained was the combined 



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