WOOD ROADS 



somewhat man-harried indeed, but never 

 by man possessed. In this country to the 

 east of Ponkapog Pond lingered longest 

 the moose and bear. The fox makes it 

 his home and his hunting-ground still; I 

 find his trail still warm, and in summer 

 you should tread with care, for an occa- 

 sional rattlesnake trails his slow length 

 among the rocks. The most that man 

 has ever done here is to shoot and chop 

 trees. The echoes of axe and gun die 

 away soon, the trees grow up again, and 

 man's only mark is the wood roads. 



Roads in this world are supposed to 

 lead from somewhere to somewhere else, 

 but no suspicion of such definiteness of 

 purpose can ever be attached to wood 

 roads, unless you are willing to say that 

 they lead from the land of humdrum to 

 the country of romance. Sometimes, in 

 following them, you unexpectedly come 

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