She Bay of he Band 
the shepherd dog barking at him from my neigh- 
bor’s yard below. 
This run up the ridge to the pasture is the high- 
way from west to east. When the pack is baying off 
to the eastward, and coming nearer, I can stand by 
the fence between the yard and my neighbor’s pasture 
with the certainty of seeing the fox once in half a 
dozen times, and the dogs almost every time, for the 
fox breaks from the sprout land back of the henyard, 
crosses the neighboring pasture, jumps the wall, and 
runs my driveway to the public road and on to the 
woods beyond the river. 
All of this sounds very wild, indeed, and so it is— 
at night; in the daylight it is all tame enough. Only 
the patient watcher knows what wild feet run these 
open roads; only he who knows the lay of every 
foot of this rocky, pastured land knows that these 
winding cow paths lead past the barnyards on into 
the ledges and into dens. And no one can find all of. 
this out in a single June. 
Many of our happiest glimpses of nature are ac- 
cidental. We stumble upon things, yet it happens 
usually when we are trying to find something. The 
finding of a hummingbird’s nest is always an acci- 
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