Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

While I was admiring the fish, Joe espied a hawk, sailing near. A wonderful flight is the hawk’s. There is something inspiring in that graceful motionless gliding.

When we came to the Canfield road Jim and I took the bucket and went to the Albany schoolhouse for water. It was about four o’clock. I think we all realized at once what a splendid invig­orating day it was. Jim and I back again we continued along the stream. Once a shietpoke flew up, and again a pair of them. It was not long until we found ourselves at the Beech, our camp on the frog-leggin trip. Jim proceeded at once to fishing, as did likewise Fred and Joe while I willingly stayed on guard at the camp.

The time from then on till suppertime was filled with little sights and sounds. The clouds were all gone; the wind was dying down and a peacefulness was settling down over everything. Near camp I found some bouncing