Hn the Moob0 wttb tbe 3Bovv 



that I care. Give me a fortnight of free- 

 dom in the woods of spring and I will find 

 a freshness infinitely changeable, an origi- 

 nality varying with every puff of the breeze. 

 Give me an outing — you may as well, for 

 otherwise I shall take it by force; I must 

 have it. And what is an outing in the 

 green woods to him who bears not the 

 longbow? 



Now if you ask why the longbow is to 

 be lugged in, I answer — because. It goes, 

 or I stay. I would rather delve at my 

 desk, with the good yew unstrung stand- 

 ing there in the corner beside the ancient 

 tall clock, than to undertake a ramble in 

 the hill country without that trusty mono- 

 chord across my arm. We have been boon 

 companions these many years, my bow 

 and I, and it is now too late for a change 

 of relations. We go together into green 

 solitudes, and find places where Diana's 

 footprints are yet almost visible, the spot, 

 still warm, where Pan took his noonday 

 nap. 



I am usually in the low country of the 

 South when a desire for the hilly region 

 202 



