Music of the Wild 



stumps, all within a few rods of the house that 

 the felled trees had shaded from noon until sunset. 

 These trees had been cut within the past two years, 

 and the house had stood for many. There was not 

 a growth anywhere around it except a few scrub 

 cedars, and not a bird note. It was bared to the 

 burning heat. 



What would it have meant to the women and 

 children of that stopping-place, for there was no 

 A Road- sign of home around it, to have had the tight pal- 

 side Dream m g_ f ence torn away from the few yards immedi- 

 ately surrounding the house; the shelter of those 

 big trees, with an easy seat beneath them, and a 

 hammock swinging betM-een? I dreamed those 

 trees were growing again and filled with bird notes, 

 that fence down, a coat of fresh paint on the house, 

 the implements standing in the barn lot sheltered, 

 and one day's work spent in arranging the prem- 

 ises. Into the dream would come a vision of open 

 doors and windows, the sound of the voices of con- 

 tented women, the shouts of happy children, and 

 the chirping of many birds. 



Some farms belong to men my critic calls a 

 "tight-wad." That is not a classic expression; but 

 if you saw the lands from which every tree had 

 been sold, the creeks and ponds dried and plowed 

 over, the fields inclosed in stretches of burning 

 wire fence to allow cultivation within a few inches 

 of it, not a bird note sounding, you w^ould un- 

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