Dickey Downy - The Autobiography of a Bird by Virginia Sharpe Patterson
page 52 of 121 (42%)
page 52 of 121 (42%)
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delicious sensation known only to the feathered tribes of all God's
creation. Our trip took us across some densely wooded mountains, where we rested for a time. A thick undergrowth of young saplings prevented any roads, and only occasional narrow footpaths showed that people sometimes passed that way. The mountain was grand in its loneliness; but doubtless was a desolate spot to the settlers, whose cabins were scattered at long distances from each other in the depths of the wood. I could imagine how cut off from the whole world the women and children in these cabins would feel, for it is natural for human beings to love society. The perpetual stillness must have been hard to bear when months sometimes passed away, especially in the winter season, without their getting a glimpse of other human faces. The mountains were full of wildcats too, which made their situation worse, as these fierce animals were frequently known to attack men as savagely as wolves do. One day while we were there two travelers camped under the tree where our family was roosting. They had evidently had a hard time making their way through the tangled undergrowth, for as one of the men flung himself down on the ground and stretched himself out at full length, he exclaimed peevishly: "Well, I don't want any more such experiences. I'm dead tired; my face is all scratched with the thorns and bushes; and I haven't seen a newspaper for a week. If the railroad company needs any more work of this kind done, they must get somebody else." |
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