THE SUMMIT OF THE YEARS 



big doorway upon the sunlit meadows and hill- 

 slopes! The sound of the flail is heard in the old 

 barn no more, but in its stead the scratching of a 

 pen and the uneasy stirring of a man seated there 

 behind a big box, threshing out a harvest for a loaf 

 of much less general value. 



As I sit here day after day, bending over my 

 work, I get many glimpses of the little rills of wild 

 life that circulate about me. The feature of it that 

 impresses me most is the life of fear that most of the 

 wild creatures lead. They are as alert and cautious 

 as are the picket-lines of opposing armies. Just 

 over the line of stone wall in the orchard a wood- 

 chuck comes hesitatingly out of his hole and goes 

 nibbling in the grass not fifty feet away. How alert 

 and watchful he is! Every few moments he sits 

 upright and takes an observation, then resumes his 

 feeding. When I make a slight noise he rushes to the 

 cover of the stone wall. Then, as no danger appears, 

 he climbs to the top of it and looks in my direction. 

 As I move as if to get up, he drops back quietly to 

 his hole. 



A chipmunk comes along on the stone wall, hur- 

 rying somewhere on an important errand, but 

 changing his course every moment. He runs on the 

 top of the wall, then along its side, then into it and 

 through it and out on the other side, pausing every 

 few seconds and looking and listening, careful not 

 to expose himself long in any one position, really 

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