XVIII. 



A RAINY-DAY TRAMP. 



BEFORE I opened my eyes in the morning I 

 knew something had happened, for I missed the 

 usual charm of dawn. A robin, to be sure, 

 made an effort to lead, as was his custom, and 

 sang out bravely once or twice ; a song sparrow, 

 too, flitted into the evergreen beside my window, 

 and uttered his sweet and cheery little greeting 

 to whom it might concern. But those were the 

 only ones out of the fourteen voices we were 

 accustomed to hear in the morning. 



When I came out on the veranda not a note 

 was to be heard and not a bird to be seen ex- 

 cepting a woodpecker, who bounded gayly up 

 the trunk of a maple, as if sunshine were not 

 essential to happiness, and a chipping-sparrow, 

 who went about through the dripping grass 

 with perfect indifference to weather, squabbling 

 with his fellow-chippies, and picking up his 

 breakfast as usual. 



I seated myself in the foig rocker, and turned 

 toward the woods, a few rods away. The rain, 

 which had fallen heavily for hours, light and 



