XIV 



TWO full years passed before I returned to 

 my pond on a sunny September day, in my 

 mind's eye seeing it smile a welcome, hearing it 

 cry, "Lo here! Lo there!" and planning, as I 

 came down the silent trail, how I would accept 

 all its invitations. First, the salt-lick must be 

 spied out from a distance; and the examination 

 would tell me whether to keep on down my own 

 trail or, if the lick were occupied, to branch off 

 by a certain game-path, which would lead me to 

 the blind where I had so often watched the deer 

 unseen. Next, I would have a restful look at a 

 mound of moss swelling above the bog near a 

 certain tamarack, which always showed the first 



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