CHAPTER IX. 

 THE DRAWBRIDGE. 



I hate yet to see the rambler who finds the jumping 

 of fences exhilarating. When one crosses his path there 

 may be no audible comment, but thoughts multiply. 

 Particularly is this the case when the barrier to his prog- 

 ress is constructed of spiked wire. 



The fence that gives least offence is the quaint old 

 zigzag series of chestnut rails, staked up with twisted 

 cedar saplings and chunked by moss-covered bowlders 

 just peeping above the ground. This once common 

 feature of all our fields merits a word in its defence. 



What feature of a long cultivated country can boast 

 of so many attractions to a rambling naturalist as one 

 of these worm-fences 1 Indeed, the very existence of not 

 a few animals, in many localities, depends upon these 

 roomy structures, that secure to them a strip of land 

 eight to ten feet wide. Insignificant as bare earth, it is 

 true ; but far from it when densely overgrown with im. 

 penetrable tangles of thorn-bearing vegetation. 



Here congregate in confidence weasels, skunks, mink, 

 chipmunks, and mice. Bluebirds and wrens find con- 

 venient nesting -places in the hollow rails, sparrows in 

 the low bushes filling all the angles. The lithe green 

 lizard is happy among the upper rails, where he can 

 still bask with safety in the glowing August sunshine. 



