A MOUNTAIN-SIDE RAMBLE. 173 



pitched a tune on one side of the path (he 

 appeared to feel no compunctions about in- 

 terrupting the red-eye's exhortation), and a 

 squirrel sprung his rattle on the other ; and 

 presently I came to the second farm: a 

 large clearing, bounded by the forest on all 

 hands, but after these many years still 

 yielding a very respectable hay-crop (so 

 does the good that men do live after them), 

 and with a house and barn still standing at 

 the lower end. I reached the house just in 

 time to escape a shower, making an en- 

 forced obeisance as I entered. It was but 

 the ghost of a dwelling, the door off its 

 hinges, and no glass in the four small win- 

 dows ; but it had a substantial quality about 

 it, notwithstanding, as a not very tall man 

 was liable at any moment to be reminded 

 should he carry himself a trifle too proudly 

 under the big unhewn timbers. It is better 

 to stoop than to bump your head, they 

 seemed to be saying. Hither came no tour- 

 ists but the rabbits ; and they, it was plain, 

 were not so much tourists as permanent 

 residents. As I looked at the blank walls 

 and door-posts, after a fortnight's expe- 

 rience among the mountains, I felt grateful 



