THE BROOK IN APRIL 



about foxes, but I am not so sure about 

 the rest of it. If there are any happy 

 hunting-grounds where the souls of game 

 flee away I warrant Bose leads the pack. 

 He was a full-blooded foxhound, deep- 

 chested, musical, lop-eared ; and he did n't 

 know a fox from a buff cochin. He 

 hunted continually, but rarely on a real 

 trail. His nose was for visions. 



It was on a first day of April that we 

 came out of the door together, and Bose 

 took one sniff, lifted his head, bayed mu- 

 sically, and was off into the pasture with 

 me following, both of us ripe for any 

 adventure. There was a smell of spring 

 in the air; indeed, I was not sure but it 

 was the green-robed, violet-crowned god- 

 dess whom the dog set forth to hunt. If 

 so, I was more than glad to follow, for 

 the winters seem long in my town. We 

 know that the sun-god is pursuing Daphne 

 99 



