air with melody. "Bobolink, bobolink, spirk, spank, spink, chee, chee,
chee!"

I knew that "Mrs. Robert of Lincoln" was sitting contentedly on her
little round nest, under a tuft of grass, very near the sweet singer. I
paused at the graveyard, and looked over the wall. I read: "Margaret and
Frances Wetherell, daughters of John and Hannah Wetherell, aged 18 and
20 years." I knew these were the girls who had died of the fever; a twin
gravestone had been put up to their graves. Another stone told of a
little girl, two and a half years old--Catherine. I reckoned up the
date, and had she been living, she would have been over forty years old.
Many other stones stood there, but I left them without reading the
inscriptions, and hastened on to the pines.

I stepped over the low wall between the field and pasture and walked
down by the brook until I came to the Stony Bridge. This I crossed and
followed up on the broad wheelpath. The pines smelled so sweet: the
grass was short and green: everything seemed calm and cool. I sat down
by a large Norway pine and watched the birds. Right below me I saw a
fox-hole, with the entrance so barricaded with sticks and stones, that I
felt very sure poor Reynard must have been captured unless he dug out
somewhere else. I began to walk around. Six or seven feet to the south
of the besieged door, I discovered another entrance. I don't know
whether some animal was still living in the old house, or no: but this
hole looked as if it were used. A little pine grew in front, a juniper
made its roof and spread its fine branches over the door, squaw vines
and checkerberry leaves grew on either side.

I walked on in the wheelpath. On the north side many tall Norway pines
were growing, with white pines scattered here and there. Crimson