A DAY IN FRANCONIA 83 



upon a prostrate maple trunk. Then it was 

 spring, the trees in fresh leaf, the grass newly 

 sprung, the world full of music. Bobolinks 

 were rollicking in the meadow below, and 

 swallows twittered overhead. Then I sat in 

 the shade. Now there was neither bobolink 

 nor swallow, and when I looked about for a 

 seat I chose the sunny side of the wall. 



Only four months, and the year was already 

 old. But the mountains seemed not to know 

 it. Washington, Jefferson, and Adams ; 

 Lafayette, Haystack, and Moosilauke ; not 

 a cloud was upon one of them. And be- 

 tween me and them lay the greenest of val- 

 leys. 



So for the forenoon hours I sat and walked 

 by turns ; stopping beside a house to enjoy 

 a flock of farm-loving birds, bluebirds 

 especially, with voices as sweet in autumn as 

 in spring, loitering under the long arch of 

 willows, taking a turn in the valley woods, 

 where a drumming grouse was almost the 

 only musician, and thence by easy stages 

 sauntering homeward for dinner. 



For the afternoon I have chosen a road 

 that might have been made on purpose for 



