sitting so sedately. I really suppose that seeing 

 me eat has made him hungry. He will have his 

 lunch too. But the light on the water is sweet to 

 see, and the ripples run like laughter over the 

 river's face, and the cattails not yet tailed stand 

 sedately like folks at a funeral, and the blue of the 

 sky is clouding for rain, and a drop from the cloud 

 is on my face, and the gray sky is beautiful as a 

 Vision of the twilight and where is the pole? I 

 will leave a crust of bread and a chicken bone on the 

 bank. The chipmunk has been neighborly, maybe 

 he will like it; and I will throw some shreds of my 

 lunch into the water as an offering to the fish. 

 They have given me a rare morning. The line is 

 not wet, but I am, and the fish have not been be- 

 guiled, for I have not grown vicious yet and baited 

 my hook. But I'll be blessed if I know where the 

 pole and the line and the hook are ; and I will go and 

 hunt them. And after a series of meanderings in 

 mind I conclude they may be in one of seventeen 

 places, which is a serious gain in the question of 

 discovery and conclude them practically found 

 now. I may be leisurely and gather wild roses 

 and dainty ferns; and I sit down beside a wild 

 flower devoutly as beside a woman, and wonder 

 about its loneliness and loveliness, and if God 

 knows it is there; and I walk in ripples of undulat- 

 ing grasses that hem the edge of the stream, and 

 a phcebe plaints near me, and far across the river where the milk 

 weeds grow and hang their ball blossoms, a hawk flies and flings his 

 eager shadow on the water or on the meadow; for the sky has cleared 

 and the rain cloud has forgotten its business and has gone a-gypsying 

 with the wind. And here I go hunting for the fishing line. Strangely 

 enough I was mistaken. It was not in any of the seventeen places, 

 but is in the nineteenth. There it was sprawling indolently like a hobo 

 in the shade with his dinner fragments beside him, with the flies upon 

 him, and the blue bottles buzzing luxuriously around. But I stand with 

 a sense of triumph. I have found the pole and line. Some people 

 have poor memories. I pity them. There is no excuse for forgetting 



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