OUTDOORS 



looking at nature through the wrong end of 

 an opera-glass. To-day, as you promised, we 

 will go around the lake together on foot. No 

 gun, no fishing-rod, nothing but a light stick 

 and a substantial lunch, not forgetting a 

 couple of apples apiece. We will wear stout 

 shoes and old clothes, for this will be tramp- 

 ing, pure and simple. 



We are away now, and this is the first 

 slope, where these oaks are. The grass is 

 thick and green, and a robin is hopping se- 

 dately along at the top of the hill. The lake 

 shines and shimmers through the trees, and a 

 crow is cawing somewhere overhead. There 

 is the very breath and feeling of out-of-doors 

 among those massive trunks and waving 

 branches. See how the sunlight scatters fine 

 flakes, as a sower might send with his palm 

 shining handfuls of grain over a March field. 

 There is a singing in the very bosom of the 

 hills, a palpitating of life in the leaves, that 

 tells of the fervent passion of summer, the 

 blossoming of June. 



Down in that pocket of the slopes, walled 

 round by alders and brush, is a little pool, 

 shallow, and hidden from everything but the 

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