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Page 15 text:
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rock-oaks with gnarled and twisted limbs jutted up among the boulders. Far down he could see the course of the stream, showing silvery white, here and there where the alders and willows did not hide it completely. At his right the enclosing mountain wall looked parched and bare. The small chestnuts and oaks could not conceal the gray and brown of the rocks, which precipitately fell away to the bottom of the gorge. He descended to where a j utting ledge of the time-worn rock made a fall of some four feet for the noisy stream. It was the greatest direct fall which tl1e stream made in its troubled course. He seated him- self below the ledge where the beautiful bow which the sunlight made in the rising mist could be clearly seen. How it gleamed and quivered ! The broad bands of the glorious colors came out distinctly, and when a passing cloud for a moment obscured the sun, the mist looked so ghastly white that our watcher instinctively saw there hanging the crape which had hung before the door when his little sister, so long ago, had died! But the bow came back again and he sat, still watching the eddying swirl of the foam Hakes, his whole soul filled witl1 the roar of the waters. just above the fall was a deep basin, where the water in its gliding flow seemed to forget the rapids and falls around it. As he sat, his gaze was suddenly attracted by the form of a fish which had sprung from the water below. It was a gamey trout, evidently attempting to spring from the rapids be- low to the pool above. But his leap was short and back he fell. As he struck the water he was carried down some distance, but he turned about and'our watcher saw him struggling hard against the current, then gath- ering force, he again leaped from the water, his tapering form bent into a bow in his effort. But back again he fell. Time after time he tried, and time after time he fell back. Once he struck the edge of the fall but before he could gather his strength to dart into the safe water beyond, the currenthad whirled l1im over tl1e brink and down to his starting point. After several trials he gave it up. So our watcher thought. At least for some time he stayed in an eddy just out of the reach of the force of the cur- rent, his gills opening and shutting in rapid motion. But back he came to the self-imposed task and sprang again. And in the end, after many trials he succeeded and our watcher saw him dart into the smooth waters of the basin. The stream roared on, the sun still shone, and the graceful limbs of tl1e great spruce which stood a short distance below him swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze. ' He rose to his feet with tense muscles: surely the lesson was plain. With great strides he was off, down the gorge for the valley below. Was he a man with brain and brawn to be less heroic in his trials than the 12 1
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Page 14 text:
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strength and his instinct and, true to tl1e latter, he at once set about a new hole. It was a slow task. His pincers were a useless encumbrance but with quick, decisive blows from his feet he dug up and pushed aside the sand. Soon he had made it the size of an acorn bowl and slipping down into it he began to conceal himself at the bottom. He had scarcely covered half his body when down toppled the bank in ruins, covering him under the debris, and destroying the result of all his former patient toil. But he set to work again and this time was more successful and after a time nothing was seen save the circular hole and the black pincers protruding from the bottom. The trap was set. Soon an unwary ant, traveling along, approached too near this innocent-looking depression and slipped over the edge. Quick as thought, spurt after spurt of sand came upon the intended victim, coming down around him in showers. Bewildered, he turned around and began to struggle toward the top again. It was hard work. The sand falling on him was heavy, half stunning him with its force. But after quite a struggle he escaped. But alas for the trap of the ant-lion! Half filled with sand, the edge no longer circular, it stood again-ruined. The poor ant-lion extricated himself from the wreck of his once so beautiful and so symmetrical dwelling and seemed to gaze at it for awhile helplessly. But not for long. With undiminished energy he again set to work and soon again the trap might be seen, an inverted cone of perfect form. Our watcher helped him this time, for catching the next ant that came strag- gling his way, he drove him to the edge of the trap and watched as volley after volley of sand was hurled upon him. This time the patient worker was rewarded. Our watcher arose and walked away. He' thought of the patient little toiler, of his disappointing failures and then reflected that, unlike a man to him there came no consciousness of duty done. no sooth- ing influence of sympathizing friends, but all was instinct. , He strode along still musing. The stream began to quicken its pace, to dash along like a frightened deer. Its murmur and babble gradually changed intoa roar and soon deep-toned and full, it fell upon his ear. He gazed about. He was nearing a gorge down which the stream plunged by a series of falls and rapids, to recontinue its babbling course some dis- tance below. He stood at the summit of the fall and looked down into the gorge. Away down, a mile or more it widened out into another val- ley running directly across the course of the stream. Across the large valley he could see the wheatfields shining bright and yellow in the sun- light. The mountains which closed in the larger valley seemed blue and far away. The gorge was very rough and rugged. Stnnted pines and , ...U F
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Page 16 text:
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little teachers he had been watching? No! he would try again and again, and yet again, and if he must pass his life in unrewarded attempts, yet would he try. ' 'I'll die fighting, he said through clenched teeth as with mighty strides he rushed along. The petals of the azalia in his path fell in pink show- ers as he passed. In quick bounds, a frightened rabbit bobbed from be- fore his feet. A mother pheasant ran dragging her wing, but though she looked so helpless he did not stop to find her nest of young. Down be- side the path he saw a green carpet of arbutus. The leaves looked fresh and bright but he trampled upon them with never a thought of the waxy gems that so short a time before had nestled in their midst. And now he nears a clearing. The cow-bells tinkle clearly in the air. vt ik 'K But let us not follow him back to the dwellings of men. Let us sit down again beside the streamg perchance it may tell us something too. just over there a great tree has been overthrown. Its matted roots, the hard clay and rocks still clinging tightly to them, stand a barrier to the mov- ing water. Upon the roots the water dashes. Tl1e .spray flies and the current swirls, but aroundthe edge it slips and still glides on. And is it stopped by the matted roots? No,-no, indeed. Nor rugged rocks, nor heavy trunks of fallen trees. nor dams of men. nor wheels of mills. nor walls of cities can avail to tur11 our little stream from its course to the ocean. We sit and watch the spray. It may not talk to us, but only to the few. A loose root waves back and forth under the varying pressure of the stream's flow. Back and forth, back and forth, and the water strikes it now here, now there, now here, now there. The little hepaticas with their three-lobed leaves stand motionless on the op'- posite bank and though the stream says nothing to us in words, yet it gives us our lesson too as its clear waters strike the roots, but with no stop, still glide around and babble on. -M. L. D. is
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