HEADS WEIGHTY WITH EXPERIENCE Bow. 145 



drifting to her. More likely he did not know 

 where he was going but was on the way. 



It was late when I began my homeward 

 tramp, yet I hurried not. My last day of an- 

 gling for small fish had, like the others, been 

 successful. The rays of the setting sun fell 

 upon my pathway as from the stream valley I 

 climbed the steep slope to the level uplands. 

 Farther on T passed a field of ripening wheat, 

 many of whose heads were bowed as human 

 heads weighty with wisdom and experience bow 

 when harvest time draws near. Two weeks be- 

 fore that field had been a shimmering sheen of 

 green ; to-night it was a motionless lake of gold. 

 In time the firefly's glim appeared and the 

 goodnight notes of the birds were uttered. All 

 human sounds soon ceased and finally "night 

 drew her sable curtain down and pinned it with 

 a star." Reaching the old home I went in to 

 leave a part of my day's catch and to talk 

 awhile with the dear old mother she who made 

 me what I am then tentward took my way. 



Sunday, June 18. The last day in camp! A 

 glorious morn, the air cool yet without the rip- 

 ple of a breeze, the sky without a fleck of cloud. 



The twelve days here spent in this old wood- 

 land pasture, and along the stream that I have 

 known best and loved most, have been days of 

 pleasure. Balmy airs and perfect sunshine 



10-B28 



