Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1890-06-04
RAMBLING IN THE WOODS.
A City Mans Return to the Scenes OF Hll
Childhood.

CHILDHOOD.
1t was hot, cloudless day in August.
A gentle breeze was stirring, and, SIT
ting on the little back porch of the old
farmhouse and looking across vista Of
yellow stubble-flelds to the dark line of
woods, nearly half a mile away, could
see the tops of the tallest trees swaying
gently, and could almost, fancied, hear
the faint rustling of their leaves, OF. the
music of which l have ever, since a
child, been over-fond, writes Ed r.
Pritchard, in the Arkansaw Traveller
1t had been three years since had
visited the old farm, three long years Of
toll at the desk, amid the noise and busy
strife of a great metropolis, and this was
my first day of short weeks vacation
at the old home, among the friends of
my boyhood days and the scenes Of the
happiest years of my life.
l had reached the farm about ten
o'clock in the morning, and, after a
bounteous dinner at noon, was sitting
on the porch, the coolest place, as we'll
knew, about the house, feasting my eyes
on the dear old landscape that had
known so long, and which, during all the
years that had been away from it, was
always charming picture that, though
paradoxical it may sound, had only to
shut my eyes to see at will.
| must get to those woods, and that at
once. No matter that the afternoon
August sun was sending down his fiercest
rays, no matter that must walk half
mile across stubble-felds, which, from
where l sat, could see were almost
quivering with heat, know what sweet,
familiar sounds shall hear, what re-
freshing coolness and quiet / shall find
when l have reached their green and
shady depths. Even while I am think
ing of these things, a solitary crow with
loud ''caw! caw!'' flies swiftly over the
stubble-fields, high in air, and light
ing on the top of huge oak sends forth
series of exultant ''cawsI' to his mates
whom he has left in the orchard back of
the barn. To me he seems to say to them:
''There are no hens nests In that old
straw-stack. Why stay over there in that
hot, broiling sun? Come over here
into these grand old woods. Hard by
is the creek, and l know q dark and
shady pool where we can bathe, and be-
low it shining, singing ripple, where
we can wade and play to our hearts con-
tent"
Evidently, they understood the mean
ing Of his cries, for q moment later q
bevy of the black and saucy rascals go
scurrying across the fields and join him,
where they all set up perfect chorus
of 'caws!" which l take to be express
sions of approval of their companions
suggestion.
Hastily divestiHg myself of coat and
vest, for in the country 1t is no breach
of etiquette ito go In your shirt
sleeves" step into the hall and take
from the rack a wide-brimmed straw
hat, and after brief stop at the old
spring house at the foot of the hill, am
off, as the crows fly, across fields for
the woods.
On reaching them I find / am sweat
ing profusely. What? You say sweat
ing is vulgar, should say perspiring?
Well, no matter; know / am heated
and flushed, but l never felt better.
The air is pure and sweet, the birds are
singing in the woods on the borders of
the little stream, and now as l pause to
mop my dripping face l hear wood
pecker beating his lively tattoo on an
old beech stub and chirp, chirp comes
from saucy little ground squirrel as
he streaks it like flash of russell light
along the rails of the old fence near
which am standing. | shy a rock at
him, out Of pure wantonness, and am
murderous enough to wish had a gun
with which to take crack at that wiIy
old wood-pecker, who has, on catching
sight of me, slyly slipped around to the
other side of the old beech stub, where
can still hear him pecking away as
busy as mailer.
hastily scramble over the fence, and
five minutes later | stand under the
thick shade of the wide-spreading
branches of a grand old beech tree
and on the edge of steep bluff, at
whose base runs the turbulent but ro-
mantle Little Wildcat creek. / throw
myself down on the grass, which is here
80 luxuriant that it is softer than the
heaviest carpet, and there lie for half
an hour idly listening 10 the soft and
lndescrlbabie music of the waters be-
low. Then, having cooled off, l 90
down to the waters edge and delib-
erately disrobe and-s'go in swimmin'."
Mind, don't say bathing, for had no
bathing suit. just did as we boys used
to do years ago-'iust stripped of and
went in swimmin','' You see, there was
nobody there to look except the birds
and the squirrels and an old black
water snake which l caught summing
himself out on a rock at the waters
edge, and which / ruthlessly killed with
club.
How did enjoy that swim, that frolic
all by myself in the wsterl Tired of
that, continued my stroll until a cool
ness Of the air and rapidly deepening