THE ADIRONDACKS 83 



and springs up with the general awakening. None 

 were tardy at the row of white chips arranged on 

 the trunk of a prostrate tree, when breakfast was 

 halloed; for we were all anxious to try the venison. 

 Few of us, however, took a second piece. It was 

 black and strong. 



The day was warm and calm, and we loafed at 

 leisure. The woods were Nature's own. It was a 

 luxury to ramble through them, rank and shaggy 

 and venerable, but with an aspect singularly ripe 

 and mellow. No fire had consumed and no lumber- 

 man plundered. Every trunk and limb and leaf 

 lay where it had fallen. At every step the foot 

 sank into the moss, which, like a soft green snow, 

 covered everything, making every stone a cushion 

 and every rock a bed, a grand old Norse parlor; 

 adorned beyond art and upholstered beyond skill. 



Indulging in a brief nap on a rug of club-moss 

 carelessly dropped at the foot of a pine-tree, I 

 woke up to find myself the subject of a discussion 

 of a troop of chickadees. Presently three or four 

 shy wood warblers came to look upon this strange 

 creature that had wandered into their haunts ; else 

 I passed quite unnoticed. 



By the lake, I met that orchard beauty, the cedar 

 waxwing, spending his vacation in the assumed 

 character of a flycatcher, whose part he performed 

 with great accuracy and deliberation. Only a month 

 before I had seen him regaling himself upon cher- 

 ries in the garden and orchard; but as the dog-days 

 approached he set out for the streams and lakes, to 



