SPRING 99 



a royal horizonf ul of mountains ; some near 

 and green, some farther away and blue, and 

 some — the highest — still with the snow on 

 them: Moosilauke, Kinsman, Cannon, La- 

 fayette, Garfield, the Twins, Washington, 

 Clay, Jefferson, and Adams ; all perfectly 

 clear, the sky covered with high clouds. A 

 sober day it was, sober and still, though the 

 bobolinks seemed not so to regard it. While 

 I looked at the landscape, seating myself 

 now and then to enjoy it quietly, I kept an 

 ear open for the shout of a pileated wood- 

 pecker, a wildly musical sound often to be 

 heard on this hillside ; but to-day there was 

 nothing nearer to it than a crested fly- 

 catcher's scream, out of the big sugar or- 

 chard. 



On my way down the hill toward the red 

 bridge, I met a man riding in some kind of 

 rude contrivance, not to be called a wagon 

 or a cart, between two pairs of wheels. He 

 lay flat on his back, as in a hammock, and, 

 to judge by his tools and the mortar on his 

 clothing, must have been a mason returning 

 from his work. He was " taking it easy," 

 at all events. We saluted each other, and 





