TWO DAYS TOGETHER 



Thursday the seventeenth. 



Early astir, in a clear and frosty morning, after a cloudy 

 night, I went with all quietness to the edge of the water, and for 

 some time unobserved, was able to enjoy the spectacle of a con- 

 siderable flock of ducks close to shore. In the frosty mist, just 

 beginning to thin under the advancing sun, they dived, preened, 

 paddled, talked duck talk, played tag, and every little while some 

 one among them would sit up on his tail in the water and flap 

 his wings for sheer exuberance of good spirits. There is a cheerful 

 sociability about the duck that is very engaging. Some one in 

 the camp stirred noisily, an old drake squawked a note of warn- 

 ing, and with a rush of wings and a multitude of skittering wakes 

 as they rose, the entire flock took flight. 



Immediately after breakfast. Bill, Art, and Jay went to 

 repairing the alleged boat, effecting also a more secure seating 

 for the motor at the stern. I went to painting on Papermaker's 

 Flat, above camp. To one fresh from the city, the isolation and 

 silence a few hundred yards from camp is to a degree impressive. 

 And yet it is peopled, for in the absence of all other distractions, 

 one notices subconsciously the slightest movement. The stirring 



/- X 



.r^ 







On Papermaker's Flat ""^Vjh v.,* iij^fcy 





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