WOODLAND PATHS 



ily, all about in the full sunshine. The 

 hotter it was the more they liked it, and 

 in the brightest part of the day they 

 cut up the yawns into brief words and 

 phrases which made a most language- 

 like gabble. 



Of course I could not see this peace con- 

 gress of leopard frogs and can prove only 

 that it sounded like them. It may very 

 well have been the pukwudgies talking 

 over my presence and wondering if white 

 men were now coming to oust them from 

 their last stronghold in the bog, as they 

 have driven them and the once more vis- 

 ible Indians from the rough hills and 

 sandy plains about the pond. Indeed, as 

 I sat quiet, hour after hour, in this minia- 

 ture wilderness, I came to hear many a 

 strange and unclassified sound that, for all 

 I know, may have been fay or frog, ban- 

 shee or bird. 



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