A MOUNTAIN-SIDE RAMBLE. 175 



By this time the shower was over, and a 

 song-sparrow was giving thanks. I might 

 never have another opportunity to follow 

 up an old forest path, of which I had heard 

 vague reports as leading from this point to 

 the railway. "It starts from the upper 

 corner of the farm," my informant had said. 

 To the upper corner I went, therefore, 

 through the rank, wet grass. But I found 

 no sign of what I was looking for, and with 

 some heartfelt but unreportable soliloquiz- 

 ings, to the effect that a countryman's direc- 

 tions, like dreams, are always to be read 

 backwards, I started straight down toward 

 the lower corner, saying to myself that I 

 ought to have had the wit to take that 

 course in the beginning. Sure enough, the 

 path was there, badly overgrown with 

 bushes and young trees, but still traceable. 

 A few rods, and I came to the brook. The 

 bridge was mostly gone, as I had been fore- 

 warned it probably would be, but a single 

 big log answered a foot passenger's require- 

 ments. Once across the bridge, however, I 

 could discover no sign of a trail. But what 

 of that ? The sun was shining ; I had only 

 to keep it at my back, and I was sure to 



