y Chaucer's Immortals
may have gone a pilgriming, and in this bosky wood Robin Hood may have
trained his band. The legend that from this cliff an Indian lover on
his favorite pony once leaped to the creek a hundred feet below and a
mighty funeral ceremony was held at the Indian mound a little farther
down the valley seems to be attested both by the cliff and the mound.
Before I have gone very far I am unconcernedly conscious that I
have not the slightest idea in which direction lies the nearest road
home, nor how far I have come. But I know that somewhere down the
lavender-veiled valley the creek and myself shall reach the river at
last and all will be well. There are so many beautiful things to see
on the way that I would not hasten if I could. Life and the future is
much like that.

* * * * *

There is a pleasant constancy in the companionship of a creek. It is
always at home when I call, always seems to wear a smile of welcome,
always has something new to offer in the way of entertainment. And it
is changeless through the years. If I were to return some September
afternoon after an absence of half a lifetime I should expect to see a
green heron fly up the creek when I reached this particular bend and
to find the kingfisher in his accustomed place on the bare branch of
this patriarchal oak. At the next bend, where the current has cut the
bank straight down I should look for the rows of holes made by the
little colony of bank swallows. I should steal around the sharp bend
by the old willow to see a little sandpiper on the boulder in
mid-stream as of old. On a certain high grassy knoll I should find the
woodchuck sunning himself and he would run towards his same old hole
beneath the basswood tree, just as he does today. On the swampy edge
of the stream I should find the perennial blossoms of this same
corymbed rattle-snake root and its interesting spear-shaped leaves
reflected in the water. From the dry bank just at the end of this
ledge of rock my nostrils would catch the resinous odor of the
creamy-flowered kuhnia and a more subtle aroma from the
pearly-blossomed everlasting. The horse in the pasture would again
come up and rub his nose in my hand and the cattle beneath the trees
would make the same picture as in the days of long ago. Civilization
can hardly spoil the creek. The spring freshets obliterate attempts at
road-making and the steep hills protect it from encroachment and
pre