70 SUMMER IN A BOG. 



She found some ferns and sedges which had 

 matured; she paused to hear a bird sing: 

 "Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!" You do not 

 hear that bird sing in town. There were pretty 

 views to see between the giant oaks where a 

 clearing had been made. It was all so sylvan 

 and refreshing that for once the thought of her 

 solitude being intruded upon by human being 

 was entirely forgotten. 



As she advanced, the clearing became wider, 

 the trees fewer. Here is a path visible in the 

 greensward. And what is this? A man lying 

 face downward in the shade of a great oak 

 tree. His wide straw hat lay partly over his 

 head, a bright tin bucket by his side. She was 

 out in the open — there was no friendly shrub, 

 into whose shade she might quietly retire, close 

 at hand. She stood at bay, breathless, sur- 

 prised. She stared at the prostrate figure. Not 

 a movement revealed that he had heard her 

 approach. Perhaps he had fallen in a faint 

 and she should seek for assistance? What was 

 the trouble with the man? 



One thing she decided to do — ^she would steal 

 out to the road and make her escape. The path 

 led to the highway, and just across was a house. 

 She decided that she would not apprise the 

 people that a man lay in the woods, for it was 

 most likely that he was taking a noonday siesta 

 like normal mortals. 



