ALONG A TROUT-STREAM 



"■ Skir-reee ! " cries a scared chipmunk as he darts 

 away. A gray squirrel, with tail well cocked, barks 

 and scolds at a safe distance. From far down the 

 stream comes the low drumming of a partridge. 

 Across the bend is a sudden splash, followed by the 

 rattling cry of a kingfisher, who has had his first dive 

 of the day for nothing. A screaming hawk sails away 

 from the dry tree that tops the high bank. " Up all 

 night? " inquires a quail. 



The hypnotism and delight of it to the man escaped 

 from a busy city office are beyond all expression in 

 words 1 Blessed hours of recreation ! 



In the air is the faint odor of smoke, and of boiling 

 coffee. The cook has gone farther down the stream 

 with a heavy lunch-basket, has put six big potatoes 

 before a kindled camp-fire on the brookside, and then 

 has caught five larger trout from a deeper pool ; break- 

 fast there is nearly ready. The roasted potatoes are 

 done to a turn — how well the cook can prepare them I 

 And out from the little frying-pan come the five trout, 

 swimming a half hour ago, and now garnished with 

 tender water-cress from that bank of it close at hand. 

 Abundant coffee, cream, toast, butter ! The breakfast 

 is served on two snowy napkins spread over a mossy 

 knoll ; the dishes are pieces of freshly cut birch bark, 

 the seat is a birch log. Peerless dining-room — a June 

 sky curved in azure benediction above a wild pine- 

 forest filled with sough of the wind through its aisles — 

 with bird-notes, with the voice (so glad I) of the soul 



