Footprints 193 



a mile through the woods, I came to a nar- 

 row bat well-worn path. This was so akin 

 to my footprint thoughts of the morning that I 

 gladly followed it instead of making a short 

 cut. It was fortunate, for the path led di- 

 reftly to where I wished to go, and our theo- 

 retical geography, as usual, was terribly out 

 of joint. As it was, on the edge of an old 

 village I found a very old man in a very old 

 house. His memory as to the earlier half of 

 the century was excellent, and he gave me 

 the desired information and more. I spoke 

 of the path through the woods, and he 

 chuckled to himself. 



" Through the woodses, eh ? Well, when 

 I made the path, goin' and comin' through 

 the brush that wasn't shoulder-high, there was 

 no trees then. That was more'n forty years 

 ago." 



" No, John, 'twa'n't," piped a weak voice 

 from the interior of the little cottage ; 

 " 'twa'n't mor'n " 



" Laws, man, don't mind her. She dis- 

 putes the almanac, and every winter gets in 

 New Year's ahead of Christmas." 



I did not stop to argue the matter, but 

 hurried campward, glad that, if I could find 

 \ n 17 



