In the Moobs wftb tbe Bow 



that I care. Give me a fortnight of free- 

 dom in the woods of spring and I will find 

 a freshness infinitely changeable, an origi- 

 nality varying with every puff of the breeze. 

 Give me an outing — you may as well, for 

 otherwise I shall take it by force; I must 

 have it. And what is an outing in the 

 green woods to him who bears not the 

 longbow ? 



Now if you ask why the longbow is to 

 be lugged in, I answer — because. It goes, 

 or I stay. I would rather delve at my 

 desk, with the good yew unstrung stand- 

 ing there in the corner beside the ancient 

 tall clock, than to undertake a ramble in 

 the hill country without that trusty mono- 

 chord across my arm. We have been boon 

 companions these many years, my bow 

 and I, and it is now too late for a change 

 of relations. We go together into green 

 solitudes, and find places where Diana's 

 footprints are yet almost visible, the spot, 

 still warm, where Pan took his noonday 

 nap. 



I am usually in the low country of the 

 South when a desire for the hilly region 

 202 



