A WEEK ON WALDEN'S BIDGE. 161 



of freshly green meadow along a slender 

 watercourse, — a valley within the valley. 

 Of all the fair picture, that was the most 

 like home. 



Meanwhile there was no forgetting that 

 undiscovered stranger in the swamp. Who- 

 ever he was, he must be made to show 

 himself ; and the next day, when the usual 

 noonday deluge was past, I looked at the 

 clouds, and said : " We shall have another, 

 but in the interval I can probably reach the 

 Brow. There I will take shelter on the 

 piazza of an unoccupied cottage, and, when 

 the rain is over, go back to the swamp, see 

 my bird, and thence return home." So it 

 turned out — in part. The clouds hurried 

 me, but I reached the Brow just in season, 

 climbed the cottage fence, the gate being 

 padlocked, and, thoroughly heated as I was, 

 paced briskly to and fro on the piazza in 

 a chilling breeze for an hour or more, the 

 flood all the while threatening to fall, and 

 the thunder shaking the house. There was 

 plenty to look at, for the cottage faced the 

 Great Smokies, and though we were under 

 the blackest of clouds, the landscape below 

 was largely in the sun. The noise of the 



