grey, leathery foliage of the wolf-willow which is so
characteristic of our native woods. Cinquefoil, too, the
shrubby variety, I saw in great numbers--another one of
our native dwarf shrubs which, though decried as a weed,
should figure as a border plant in my millionaire's park.

And as if to make my enjoyment of the evening's drive
supreme, I saw the first flocks of my favourite bird,
the goldfinch. All over this vast expanse, which many
would have called a waste, there were strings of them,
chasing each other in their wavy flight, twittering on
the downward stretch, darting in among the bushes, turning
with incredible swiftness and sureness of wing the shortest
of curves about a branch, and undulating away again to
where they came from.

To the east I had, while pondering over the beautiful
wilderness, passed a fine bluff of stately poplars that
stood like green gold in the evening sun. They sheltered
apparently, though at a considerable distance, another
farmhouse; for a road led along their southern edge,
lined with telephone posts. A large flock of sheep was
grazing between the bluff and the trail, the most
appropriate kind of stock for this particular landscape.

While looking back at them, I noticed a curious trifle.
The fence along my road had good cedar posts, placed
about fifteen feet apart. But at one point there were
two posts where one would have done. The wire, in fact,
was not fastened at all to the supernumerary one, and