THE ADIRONDACKS 83 
and springs up with the general awakening. None 
were tardy at the row of white chips arranged on 
the trunk of a prostrate tree, when breakfast was 
halloed; for we were all anxious to try the venison. 
Few of us, however, took a second piece. It was 
black and strong. 
The day was warm and calm, and we loafed at 
leisure. The woods were Nature’s own. It was a 
luxury to ramble through them, — rank and shaggy 
and venerable, but with an aspect singularly ripe 
and mellow. No fire had consumed and no lumber- 
man plundered. Every trunk and limb and leaf 
lay where it had fallen. At every step the foot 
sank into the moss, which, like a soft green snow, 
covered everything, making every stone a cushion 
and every rock a bed, —a grand old Norse parlor; 
adorned beyond art and upholstered beyond skill. 
Indulging in a brief nap on a rug of club-moss 
carelessly dropped at the foot of a pine-tree, I 
woke up to find myself the subject of a discussion 
of a troop of chickadees. Presently three or four 
shy wood warblers came to look upon this strange 
creature that had wandered into their haunts; else 
I passed quite unnoticed. ‘ 
By the lake, I met that orchard beauty, the cedar 
waxwing, spending his vacation in the assumed 
character of a flycatcher, whose part he performed 
with great accuracy and deliberation. Only a month 
before I had seen him regaling himself upon cher- 
ries in the garden and orchard; but as the dog-days 
approached he set out for the streams and lakes, to 
