eater among the trees,
where nature had been prodigal with her colors, touching the woods in
spots here and there with ocher, umber, and vermilion. She had even
brushed with scarlet many of the shrubs and vines, until they glowed
with a warm color against the green background.

The pine trees had shed their needles, making a carpet soft as velvet,
where woodland elves might revel or the god Pan practice upon his
pipes, laughing nymphs dancing to the music.

Is there anything in nature more companionable than a mountain brook?
It has its moods both grave and gay, and is as fickle as a schoolgirl.
At times it chuckles at you in a musical undertone as you walk along
its banks, and again it seems to warn you from trespassing on its
preserves, scolding in a shrill falsetto as it dodges under the roots
of a fallen tree, or dives among the lilypads, as if to hide from
your sight. But when it swirls down the eddy, and comes to rest by an
overhanging rock, where the shadows are dark and the water deep, its
song is hushed, as if in fear of disturbing the wary trout that lie in
hiding in the depths of the pool.

[Illustration: WHERE THE SHADOWS ARE DARK]

This is a likely place for fish, and I put my rod together and cast my
flies, dropping them as lightly as a thistledown, and using all my
skill, but no trout rise to my lure; this is evidently their day off,
or my flies are too palpable a subterfuge to tempt a self-respecting
trout.

Sitting on a log, one end of which projects over the stream, I watch a
dragon-fly, or darning needle, float over the water, his flight so
swift my eyes can hardly follow it. At last it stops in front of me,
perfectly poised for a second, but with wings in rapid motion, then
darts away to perform its acrobatic feat of standing on its head on a
lilypad, or to feast on the gnats and other insects that it captures
while on the wing. Truly it is rightly named a dragon.

The whirligig-beetles, those social little black fellows, gather in
large numbers and chase each other round and round in graceful curves,
skating over the water as if enjoying a game of tag.

Leaving the beetles at their game, I come to a place where the brook
seems to hesitate on the brink of a mimic waterfall, as if afraid to
take the dive, but like a boy unwilling to take a dare, it plunges
over the brink to the pool below, with gurgling laughter, in a perfect
ecstasy of bravado.

A leaf drops from an overhanging bough, falli