morning, as the dawn showed faintly in the tree-tops, he gave it a
lusty cheer, napping his wings with all the seeming of delight.
Then, often, while the echo rang, I would open my eyes and watch
the light grow in .the dusky cavern of the woods. He would sit
dozing awhile after the first outbreak, and presently as the flood
of light grew clearer, lift himself a little, take another peep at
the sky, and crow again, turning his head to hear those weird,
mocking roosters of the timber-land. Then, shortly, I would hear
my father poking the fire or saying, as he patted the rooster:
"Sass 'em back, ye noisy little brat! Thet 's right: holler. Tell
D'ri it's time t' bring some wood fer the fire."

In a few minutes the pot and kettle would be boiling and the camp
all astir. We had trout and partridge and venison a-plenty for our
meals, that were served in dishes of tin. Breakfast over, we
packed our things. The cart went on ahead, my father bringing the
oxen, while I started the sheep with D'ri.

Those sheep were as many thorns in our flesh that day we made off
in the deep woods from Lake Champlain. Travel was new to them, and
what with tearing through thickets and running wild in every slash,
they kept us jumping. When they were leg-weary and used to travel,
they began to go quietly. But slow work it was at best, ten or
twelve miles a day being all we could do, for the weather was hot
and our road like the way of the transgressor. Our second night in
the woods we could hear the wolves howling as we camped at dusk.
We built our fire near the shore of a big pond, its still water,
framed in the vivid green of young tamaracks. A great hill rose on
the farther side of it, with galleries of timber sloping to the
summit, and peopled with many birds. We huddled the sheep together