LEAFING 87 



and a big pile of leaves to dive so deep into that he 

 cannot see his pen. I can feel the joy of it myself. 

 No, I do not live in a pen ; hut then, I might, if once 

 in a while I did not go leafing, did not escape now 

 and then from my little daily round into the wide, 

 wild woods — my ancestral home. 



