of walking a quarter of a mile till you
came to the bars. The latter was much
better for the lace on a Sunday petti-
coat.

Once in Emmons' Woods, there was
enchantment. An eagle might come --
or a blue heron. There had been bears
in Emmons' Woods -- bears with roll-
ing eyes and red mouths from which
their tongues lolled. There was one
place for pinky trillium, and another
for gentians; one for tawny adders'
tongues, and another for yellow Dutch-
man's breeches. In the sap-starting
season, the maples dripped their lus-
cious sap into little wooden cups; later,
partridges nested in the sun-burned
grass. There was no lake or river, but
there was a pond, swarming with a
vivacious population, and on the hard-
baked clay of the pond beach the green
beetles aired their splendid changeable
silks and sandpipers hopped ridicu-
lously.

It was, curiously enough, easier to
run than to walk in Emmons' Woods,
and even more natural to dance than to
run. One became acquainted with