The Pond-Meadow. 99 



from their beds. Those who go into the woods only in 

 Summer, have no idea how inundated they are at the sea- 

 son of Spring, and the places where they walked dryly on 

 the mossy carpet, or sat on the scrawny roots, are covered 

 knee-deep by dark mysterious pools that reflect the tree 

 trunks from their placid surfaces. 



Then again in the Fall, when even the village walks 

 are strewn thick with leaves, and the rain comes pattering 

 down for days at a time, there is no escaping the general 

 distribution of water, and by-and-by you feel it making its 

 way through your shoes. First one foot, whose shoe is 

 not quite as tight as its neighbor, becomes a little wet, or 

 perhaps you precipitate matters by stepping into a puddle, 

 and you feel the cool water come suddenly in. After that 

 you don't care ; you give over your former circumspection 

 and go plodding along in a mood of indifference. The 

 first puddle seems uncommonly cold, but after your shoes 

 and stockings get thoroughly saturated, it makes little 

 difference, as regards temperature, how many more puddles 

 you step into. There is certainly a limit of absorption, 

 and the water next to your epidermis, becomes warm, and 

 whether from its cosy retreat or from whatever cause, I 

 cannot say, it nevertheless prevents the general inrush 01 

 its cooler brother molecules. Thus it is the first wetting that 

 makes you draw your breath hastily between your teeth, and 

 after that, you wait for the water to get warm, for should 

 we not ever be turning our mishaps into pleasantries, or 

 at least make the best of the rain that is showered so 

 liberally upon us all ? 



A pipe-line, bringing petroleum from Pennsylvania, 



