226 PEPACTON 



Thanksgiving Day, but the turkey could not be 

 started again. One shooting had sufficed for it. 

 We crossed or penetrated extensive pine woods that 

 had once (perhaps in Washington's time) been cul- 

 tivated fields ; the mark of the plow was still clearly 

 visible. The land had been thrown into ridges, 

 after the manner of English fields, eight or ten feet 

 wide, with a deep dead furrow between them for 

 purposes of drainage. The pines were scrubby, — 

 what are known as the loblolly pines, — and from 

 ten to twelve inches through at the butt. In a low 

 bottom, among some red cedars, I saw robins and 

 several hermit thrushes, besides the yellow-rumped 

 warbler. 



That night, as the sun went down on the one 

 hand, the full moon rose up on the other, like the 

 opposite side of an enormous scale. The river, too, 

 was presently brimming with the flood tide. It 

 was so still one could have carried a lighted candle 

 from shore to shore. In a little skiff, we floated 

 and paddled up under the shadow of Mount Vernon 

 and into the mouth of a large creek that flanks it 

 on the left. In the profound hush of things, every 

 sound on either shore was distinctly heard. A 

 large bed of ducks were feeding over on the Mary- 

 land side, a mile or more away, and the multitu- 

 dinous sputtering and shuffling of their bills in 

 the water sounded deceptively near. Silently we 

 paddled in that direction. When about half a mile 

 from them, all sound of feeding suddenly ceased; 

 then, after a time, as we kept on, there was a great 



