16 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



near by, the wily creature went gliding swiftly down 

 the slope. 



The hound with absolute patience worked his f 

 ^sure way up the hill to the circle and began to go 

 round and round, sniffling and whimpering to him- 

 self, as I now could hear ; sniffling and whimpering , 

 with impatience, but true to every foot-print of the 

 trail. Round and round, in and out, back and forth, 

 he went, but each time in a wider circle, until the 

 ^real trail was picked up, and he was away with an 

 eager cry. 



I once again saw the trick played, so close to me, 

 ;and so deliberately, with such cool calculating, that , 

 it came with something of a revelation to me of how 

 the fox may feel, of what may be the state of mind 

 in the wild animal world. 



It was a late October evening, crisp and clear, 

 with a moon almost full. I had come up from the 

 meadow to the edge of the field behind the barn, ' 

 and stood leaning back upon a short-handled hay- J 

 fork, looking. It was at everything that I was look- - 

 ,ing the moonlight, the gleaming grass, the very ; 

 stillness, so real and visible it seemed at the falling 

 of this first frost. I was listening too, when, as far 

 away as the stars, it seemed, came the cry of the 

 hounds. 



You have heard at night the passing of a train 



beyond the mountains? the sound of thole-pins 



: round a distant curve in the river ? the closing of a 



