WOODLAND PATHS 



but stood his ground, still gazing at me 

 with that cold, critical eye. After a time 

 he moved on, pushing his great weight 

 with ease over the crushed bog growth 

 and sliding with dignity down into the 

 muddy depths of an open channel. 



For myself, I turned the boat's prow 

 toward the distant landing and pushed, as 

 he had, over the yielding shallows to the 

 open pond. I had seen a hundred beauties 

 in the lonely bog and been well initiated 

 into its mysteries. For me the spotted 

 turtles had sung, the muskrats had fought 

 a tourney, the bitterns had voiced a family 

 quarrel. And now it was nightfall, and 

 the big old dragon of the bog had looked 

 me over with measuring eye. It was high 

 time that I headed for home if I expected 

 to get there. 



218 



