up at  me, as tho to say “what do you want to stay around here for? Let’s go on.” So I got up laughing and crawled the fence, following a little path that led thru some brambles along the top of the hollow, and ceased abruptly at the edge. As I went down the bank into the hollow, the songs of birds were lost and I heard them no more for a long time. After going a little ways I found a new path which I followed under fallen trees, over swampy wet earth, stumbling over the stones and decayed logs in the stream. Presently I came to where another smaller valley united with Pine-Hollow. Here I paused a moment at the junction of the two streams. There was something peaceful and solemn in the hollow here; the tiny stream clear cold and sparkling, flowing past, singing over the rocks in rapids, or collecting in tiny smooth pools; the high overlapping banks, which was crowned with tall, slim, silent trees, and whose sides were covered with leaves in places, or patches of yellow earth; and the wind rustling in the tops of the trees far overhead all of these had a quieting and delightful influence on the mind.
     Buster, the tormentor, came up now from a tour of curiosity and put both fore-paws up on me, so I went on still following the winding stream, jumping stone to stone, or walking along rotten logs that were green with moss.  As I came