208 My Neighbor's Wood-Shed 



crated by the average intelligence of a com- 

 munity and retained in places calling for 

 erudition. 



When this fellow was gone the atmos- 

 phere of the wood-shed cleared considerably 

 and was sweeter. How much more accept- 

 able was the innocent ignorance of the native 

 than the empty declamations of a bumptious 

 chatterbox. 



But there were many days when the wood- 

 shed was deserted, bright, sunny, winter 

 days, when the farmer folk were busy and 

 the trapper was in the marsh and the fisher- 

 man with his little nets beneath the ice kept 

 guard over them lest the big pike should 

 give him the slip. The children, too, were 

 all at school, and the wood-chopper off with 

 his ox-team and axe to the far woods. It 

 was sweet at such times to be alone. Here 

 was a most excellent chance to welcome 

 timid day-dreams and hear in every distant, 

 muffled, droning sound the voices of the long 

 departed music from far away. What a 

 sweet sound is the tinkle of drops of water 

 when the snow on the roof is melting ! 

 Drip, drip, drip ! And my thoughts are all 

 atune to the glad sound. So, too, my mo- 



