90 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



Tn this old pasture there is naught to measure 

 the passage of time but the changing shadows. 

 No tolling bell, no clanging clock, no shrill 

 shriek of whistle, no incoming or outgoing of 

 steam or tram cars mark the hours. The matin 

 call of cardinal at dawn, the keen whistle of the 

 marmot near midday, the cry of the whippoor- 

 will at eventide, are heard only in a few of the 

 summer months, yet here time goes on, the sec- 

 onds pass, the seasons come and go as regularly 

 as in the busiest marts where men do congre- 

 gate. 



Saturday, June 10. About one o'clock I was 

 awakened by some strange noise, then dozed 

 again. fSoon the noise was repeated with more 

 vim, sounding like the clanging of metal. I 

 jumped up, and with rifle in hand went out. 

 It was the same old bony cow trying to butt her 

 way through the wire fence. I let out a whoop 

 which Mrs. M. afterward said she heard a quar- 

 ter of a mile away, and the intruder on my 

 dreams moved slowly and sedately down the 

 valley. However, she had broken my night's 

 rest and slumber came not again for two hours 

 and more. When I finally dozed a dog began 

 to bark and whine. Again getting up I found 

 a strange collie trying to get into the yard. On 

 seeing me he fawned and wagged his tail, but 

 I gave him a "get out" which caused him to 



