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Dickey Downy - The Autobiography of a Bird by Virginia Sharpe Patterson
page 52 of 121 (42%)
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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