152 En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 



blotched school-house in which I myself 

 could have whined and barked and pawed 

 at the door when the gentians by the 

 brookside were nodding toward the musk- 

 rat tracks in the sand, and when the 

 ruffed grouse in freedom walked and flew 

 whither they would in the gay-colored 

 breezy autumn forest. Yes ! I could sym- 

 pathize with Uncas now. We were going 

 on a drive hunt, and knew that the ambi- 

 tious setter could not resist the temptation 

 to follow if a sleek-limbed hare should 

 shake its tail in his face and challenge him 

 for a run. I had hunted deer in the Royal 

 Forest, had shot partridges on the private 

 estates of wealthy landowners, and in fact 

 had enjoyed every luxury in the way of 

 shooting that my Danish friends could 

 furnish, with the exception of the drive 

 hunt which had been arranged for the 

 day of which I write. 



We reached the suburbs of Copenhagen 

 and smelled the rich salt air from the 

 reedy marshes just as the haze in the east 

 began to grow coppery, and the peeps of 

 the small birds fluttering from the hedges 



