"THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET" 107 



as we look upon their fields, to this day bound in 

 neat parallelograms of gray granite, each round 

 stone set upon two others, as the Pilgrims taught 

 their sons to place them, little disturbed by stormy 

 centuries that have merely served to garland them 

 with ivy, clematis and woodbine. 



Wild things of the woods have come to know 

 and love these old stone walls. Chipmunks, wood- 

 chucks, foxes even, find refuge and make their 

 homes in the artificial galleries thus enduringly 

 placed, and the wild flowers of the field snuggle 

 up to them to escape the farmer's scythe, paying 

 for their shelter in beauty and fragrance. Close 

 to the walls, however well shorn the field, the 

 winds of this first day of October toss yellow curls 

 of goldenrod blooms, while the asters, children of 

 the year's late prime, open wide, roguish blue eyes 

 among them. Particularly do these wayside chil- 

 dren love to ramble along one of the old stone- 

 walled lanes leading from the pasture to the cow 

 barn, as if they came up with the cows night after 

 night, and lingered outside only because the 

 barn is closed on them before they managed to 

 loiter in. 



