100 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



water-lily, and wild grape, and the dew-laid soil ! 1 

 can taste them yet, and hear them yet the still, 

 large sounds of the waking day the pickerel break- 

 ing the quiet with his swirl; the kingfisher drop- 

 ping anchor ; the stir of feet and wings among the 

 trees. And then the thought of the great book be- 

 ing held up for me ! Those were rare mornings ! 



" Bat there began to be a good many of them, for 

 the turtles showed no desire to lay. They sprawled 

 in the sun, and never one came out upon the sand 

 as if she intended to help on the great professor's 

 book. The story of her eggs was of small concern 

 to her; her contribution to the Natural History of 

 the United States could wait. 



" And it did wait. I began my watch on the 14th 

 of May ; June 1st found me still among the cedars, 

 still waiting, as I had waited every morning, Sun- 

 days and rainy days alike. June 1st was a perfect 

 morning, but every turtle slid out upon her log, as if 

 egg-laying might be a matter strictly of next year. 



" I began to grow uneasy, not impatient yet, 

 for a naturalist learns his lesson of patience early, 

 and for all his years ; but I began to fear lest, by 

 some subtile sense, my presence might somehow be 

 known to the creatures ; that they might have gone 

 to some other place to lay, while I was away at the 

 schoolroom. 



" I watched on to the end of the first week, on to 

 the end of the second week in June, seeing the mists 



