as far as he could see it. He knew every oak and pine and fir and nut
tree as a familiar friend. He knew every rivulet, every ravine, every
rabbit-burrow. The streams seemed to him as melodious as the song-birds,
and the winds had voices. He knew where to find the first blossom of
spring and the latest of autumn, the ripest fruit and most abundant
vines. He could tell just where the nests were and the number of eggs,
whether of the robin or the waterfowl. He knew the sunniest bank and
shadiest dell, the smoothest path, with its carpet of pine-needles and
fringe of fern, or the roughest crag and darkest abyss. He could read
the clouds like an open page, and predict fine weather or the coming
storm. He knew where the deer couched and where they came to drink, and
when the fawns would leave their mothers, and no trout was too cunning
for him.

But he did not know the use of a rifle. He had all sorts of lures for
the creatures he wanted to tame, but no ways of killing them. For why
should he kill them? There was always food enough; he was seldom hungry,
and these were his friends. He liked to look them in the eyes; he liked
to win them to him, soothe their fears if they had any, and then watch
their pretty joy when their liberty was regained. And how could he have
done this if their blood had been upon his hands? How could he have
quieted the throbbing little hearts if murder had been in his own?

Thus Leo spent his time, delightfully and innocently. If life were only
a summer's day! But already winter was approaching. Discontent was
brewing on the estate. Taxes were unpaid; tenants were grumbling at high
rents; laborers were threatening and their wives complaining.

Frequently, in the very midst of composing a poem, Morpheus would be
called to adjust a difficulty, settle a dispute, or revise an account.