WOODLAND PATHS 



Here, too, I was conscious of a faint, 

 ethereally fine perfume that seemed to 

 float suddenly to my senses as if it had 

 come over the treetops from the south. 

 From up stream came the babble of the 

 brook like dainty laughter. If I had 

 heard the swish of silken garments float- 

 ing away in the direction from which 

 these came I had not been surprised. 

 Eagerly I turned and followed where they 

 led me. 



Soon I heard Bose again, a half-mile 

 behind; he, too, had caught the trail. 

 Baying eagerly, he galloped by a few 

 minutes later, interjecting into his uproar 

 by some strange method of dog elocution 

 a whine of recognition and an invitation 

 to follow. 



So he went on down the pasture. No 

 leaf bud had opened, though many were 



agape, ready to burst with the pulse of 

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