This landscape gave him assurance. A fair field holding life.
It was the religion of peace. It would die if its timid eyes
were compelled to see blood. He conceived Nature to be a woman
with a deep aversion to tragedy.

He threw a pine cone at a jovial squirrel, and he ran with
chattering fear. High in a treetop he stopped, and, poking
his head cautiously from behind a branch, looked down with
an air of trepidation.

The youth felt triumphant at this exhibition. There was the law,
he said. Nature had given him a sign. The squirrel, immediately
upon recognizing danger, had taken to his legs without ado.
He did not stand stolidly baring his furry belly to the missile,
and die with an upward glance at the sympathetic heavens. On the
contrary, he had fled as fast as his legs could carry him; and
he was but an ordinary squirrel, too--doubtless no philosopher of
his race. The youth wended, feeling that Nature was of his mind.
She re-enforced his argument with proofs that lived where the sun shone.

Once he found himself almost into a swamp. He was obliged to
walk upon bog tufts and watch his feet to keep from the oily mire.
Pausing at one time to look about him he saw, out at some black water,
a small animal pounce in and emerge directly with a gleaming fish.

The youth went again into the deep thickets. The brushed
branches made a noise that drowned the sounds of cannon.
He walked on, going from obscurity into promises of a
greater obscurity.