238 ARDENMOHR. 



woods, this day was seen at once to be one of 

 October's fairest gifts. The pale blue sky was with- 

 out a cloud from north to south, while the sun 

 shone brightly as at midsummer. High overhead the 

 daws and rooks were wheeling round enjoying the 

 sunshine ; gossamer spiders busied themselves in 

 spreading their webs from bush to bush, or in 

 ballooning away on their mysterious voyages ; and 

 the small birds flitted about gaily, as if summer had 

 come back again. Yet autumn was telling a tale, 

 for the plants and late flowers were drooping under 

 the heavy night's dew, while the white frost still 

 lingered in the shadows of the walls and trees. 

 Winter was clearly coming apace. But what of that ? 

 Does not the fair Indian summer of America pass like 

 a bird of resplendent plumage ? Are not our fine days 

 still more brief? Yet is one day like this a boon to be 

 thankful for, ay, and to be remembered too ; for un- 

 eventful as these days may be, still do they come often 

 back to memory, not unmixed, it may be, with sad 

 recollections of the past, yet always lovely and always 

 welcome. 



"Now, are we all ready? I think we may go," 

 the Laird said, and we set off for the woods. 



After walking a mile or so along the highway, we 



