FOOTPATHS 179 



maple and beech wood, then through a long stretch 

 of rather barren pasture land which brought us to 

 the creek in the valley, which we crossed on a slab 

 or a couple of rails from the near fence ; then more 

 meadow land with a neglected orchard, and then 

 the little gray schoolhouse itself toeing the high- 

 way. In winter our course was a hard, beaten path 

 in the snow visible from afar, and in summer a 

 well-defined trail. In the woods it wore the roots 

 of the trees. It steered for the gaps or low places 

 in the fences, and avoided the bogs and swamps in 

 the meadow. I can recall yet the very look, the 

 very physiognomy of a large birch-tree that stood 

 beside it in the midst of the woods; it sometimes 

 tripped me up with a large root it sent out like a 

 foot. Neither do I forget the little spring run near 

 by where we frequently paused to drink, and gath- 

 ered " crinkle '' root (Dentaria) in the early sum- 

 mer; nor the dilapidated log fence that was the 

 highway of the squirrels; nor the ledges to one 

 side, whence in early spring the skunk and coon 

 sallied forth and crossed our path; nor the gray, 

 scabby rocks in the pasture; nor the solitary tree, 

 nor the old weather-worn stump; no, nor the creek 

 in which I plunged one winter morning in attempt- 

 ing to leap its swollen current. But the path 

 served only one generation of school children; it 

 faded out more than thirty years ago, and the feet 

 that made it are widely scattered, while some of 

 them have found the path that leads through the 

 Valley of the Shadow. Almost the last words of 



