A FOX IN THE MERA- 

 MEC VALLEY 



THE Meramec river flows down 

 through the Missouri hills with a 

 rush, speeding its way to the Mis- 

 sissippi with the ardor of a courier carrying 

 a reprieve. It is deep in places, and at a few 

 fords shallow, with a world of music where 

 its current babbles over the bars. It has a 

 distinct individuality among rivers, a sort of 

 turbulent energy, as though disdainful of all 

 the restraining influences of man. A wild 

 river always, seldom bringing with it any of 

 those peaceful, slumbrous influences so com- 

 mon to the lowland streams. Even where the 

 land slopes to the lesser levels the Meramec 

 shakes the ripples that crown it, like the mane 

 of an unruly colt, and leaps forward, as if 

 anxious to gain the sheltering shadows of 

 the hills. It is the type of restlessness, of 



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