94 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



hardly ready for the winter until he has heard them 

 in the cedars and has been assured that they will 

 stay, no matter how it snows and blows. 



IX 



You ought to hear, some quiet day or moonlit 

 night in October or November, the baying of the 

 hounds as they course the swamps and meadows on 

 the heels of the fox. Strange advice, you say ? No, 

 not strange. It is a wild, fierce cry that your fathers 

 heard, and their fathers, and theirs — away on back 

 to the cave days, when life was hardly anything but 

 the hunt, and the dogs were the only tame animal, 

 and the most useful possession, man had. Their deep 

 bass voices have echoed through all the wild forests 

 of our past, and stir within us nowadays wild mem- 

 ories that are good for us again to feel. Stand still, 

 as the baying pack comes bringingthe quarry through 

 the forest toward you. The blood will leap in your 

 veins, as the ringing cries lift and fall in the chorus 

 that echoes back from every hollow and hill around ; 

 and you will on with the panting pack — will on in 

 the fierce, wild exultation of the chase ; for instinct- 

 ively we are hunters, just as all our ancestors were. 



No, don't be afraid. You won't catch the fox. 



X 



You ought to hear by day — or better, by night 

 ■ — the call of the migrating birds as they pass over, 



