XI 



NEXT morning I returned to explore my find at 

 leisure. One part of that exploration was to 

 go completely around the bog, to learn its guiding 

 landmarks and compass-bearings; but an earlier 

 and better part was to sit quietly beside my pond 

 to hear whatever it might have to say to me. If 

 that last sounds fanciful, remember that many 

 things are voiceless in this world, but few are 

 wholly dumb. Of the numberless ponds that 

 brighten the northern wilderness, some were made 

 by beavers, others by flood or glacier or earth- 

 quake, and no two of them tell the same story 

 or make the same impression. They are like so 



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