138 Dreaming Bob 



evening I recalled the old man's words, while 

 looking over the early deeds that had passed 

 from hand to hand, covering the swamp-land 

 about Dog-town. 



II. 



It is not strange that I dreamed that 

 night of the old man, dreamed I was the 

 old man himself and hunting in the woods 

 for " daddy's chest." I pushed through the 

 painted meadow, breast-high in weeds, 

 boneset, iron-weed, and dodder, all in 

 bloom, and every ditch I leaped over was 

 marked by plumes of lizard's tail or clustered 

 rose-mallow. Never was meadow so beau- 

 tiful ; but I could not linger there. Ever 

 ahead the crested tit was calling, " Here, 

 here," and I was forced to follow. Then 

 the brush-land, now a sombre forest, was 

 reached, and on through the pathless woods 

 I sped, walking by no natural means, but 

 hurried as if shod in seven-league boots, 

 and stopping suddenly where there grew a 

 great chestnut, an oak, and a bended ash- 

 tree. I looked about for the old man, but 

 he was not there. Instead, a brilliant cardi- 

 nal flashed across the open, chased by a hun- 



