104 



THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



pasture, full of dewberry vines, and very discourag- 

 ing. They were excessively wet vines and briery. I 

 pulled my coat-sleeves as far over my fists as I could 

 get them, and with the tin pail of sand swinging 

 from between my teeth to avoid noise, I stumped 

 fiercely, but silently, on after the turtle. 



" She was laying her course, I thought, straight 

 down the length of this dreadful pasture, when, not 

 far from the fence, she suddenly hove to, warped 

 herself short about, and came back, barely clearing 

 me. I warped about, too, and in her wake bore 

 down across the corner of the pasture, across the 

 powdery public road, and on to a fence along a field 

 of young corn. 



" I was somewhat wet by this time, but not so 

 wet as I had been before wallowing through the 

 deep, dry dust of the road. Hurrying up behind a 

 large tree by the fence, I peered down the corn-rows 

 and saw the turtle stop, and begin to paw about in 



j the loose, soft soil. She was going to lay ! 



" I held on to the tree and watched, as she tried 



4 this place, and that place, and the other place. 

 But the place, evidently, was hard to find. What 



\ could a female turtle do with a whole field of possi- 



; 'ble nests to choose from ? Then at last she found it, 

 and, whirling about, she backed quickly at it and, 

 tail first, began to bury herself before my staring 

 eyes. 



" Those were not the supreme moments of my life; 







