WOODLAND PATHS 



where I stopped in delight. The pine 

 path ended, and the willows let the spring 

 dawn filter through their delicate sprays. 

 Just here I caught the hum of the water 

 rolling over the dam and the prattle of 

 the brook below, and right through it all, 

 clear, mellow, and elated, came the voice 

 of a song sparrow. 



" Kolink, kolink, chee chee chee chee 

 chee, tseep seedle, sweet, sweet/' he sang 

 and it fitted so well with the rollicking 

 tinkle of the brook that I knew he was 

 down among the alders where he could 

 smell the rich spring odor of the purling 

 water. The two sounds not only com- 

 plemented one another as do two parts 

 in music, but they were of the same 

 quality, though so distinctly different. It 

 was as if tenor and alto were being 

 sung. 



I had gone forth expecting bluebirds; 

 32 



