IN GREEN ALASKA 



frost, would be a long one. There were wild bees 

 here too, to cross-fertilize the flowers, and bumble- 

 bees boomed by very much as at home. And mosqui- 

 toes, how they swarmed up out of the grass upon me 

 when, in my vain effort to reach a Uttle volcanic cone 

 that rose up there before me like a haystack in a 

 meadow, I sat down to rest ! I could not seem to get 

 nearer the haystack, though I sometimes ran to get 

 away from the mosquitoes. The tundra proved far 

 less smooth to the feet than the eye had promised. 

 It was wet and boggy. A tundra is always wet in 

 summer, as the frost prevents any underground 

 drainage. But it was very uniform and the walking 

 not difficult; moss, bogs, grass, and flowering plants 

 covered it everywhere. The savanna sparrow and 

 the longspur started up before me as I walked, and 

 as I descended toward a branch of the little creek 

 after an hour's tramp, a new note caught my ear. 

 Presently I saw some plovers skimming over the 

 ground in advance of me, or aUghting upon tussocks 

 of moss and uttering a soft, warbling call. They 

 proved to be golden plovers; I had evidently in- 

 vaded their breeding-grounds, and they were making 

 their musical protest. At times the males, as they 

 circled about me, warbled in the most delightful 

 manner. There was in it, underneath its bright joy- 

 ousness, a tone of soft pleading and entreaty that 

 was very moving, — the voice of the tundra, soft, 

 alluring, plaintive, beautiful. The golden plover is 

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