bondage and given a good breakfast, after which he climbed to his home
in the birdhouse and fell asleep, unconscious of his narrow escape from
death.

THE HAUNTER OF THE TRAIL

Toward the close of an early autumn day the Hermit might have been seen
leaning comfortably against an angle of the old rail fence, pleasantly
engaged in doing nothing. At his feet lay a bundle of freshly dug roots,
the rich forest mold still adhering to their leathery, brown surfaces.
At his back stretched an upland pasture covered with coarse brown grass
and dotted with clumps of jumper and wild berry-bushes; before him lay
the wilderness, the golden tints of birch and poplar and the scarlet of
maples in sharp contrast with the dark green of pine and spruce.

The Hermit was puzzled. On several occasions when harvesting in the
woods, he had become conscious of being watched by unfriendly eyes, yet
when he turned there was nothing to be seen, save perhaps an inquisitive
chickadee or a squirrel peeping at him from behind a tree trunk. That
very afternoon, while digging his roots, he had experienced the
unpleasant sensation and, stopping his work, had searched the forest
all about him. Yet, a little later, the feeling had returned, and Pal
had growled deep in his throat, the hair along his back bristling
defiantly. The dog, however, did not leave his master and after a moment
of silent waiting the Hermit had turned again to his work, resolutely
dismissing the matter from his mind.

Now, as he leaned against the fence looking back toward the forest, he
resolved to visit it again the following afternoon for the sole purpose
of seeking out this mysterious haunter of his trail. In the mean time
the shadows were growing long and a number of tasks were still to be
done, so he picked up his roots, whistled to Pal, who was investigating
a woodchuck hole, and turned his face homeward.

The next afternoon the Hermit entered the wilderness alone, for he
wanted no excitable small dog to balk his quest. Seating himself
comfortably with his back against a log and partly screened by a thicket
of young alders, he waited motionless. A deep hush seemed to clothe the
forest as in a garment. All about him rose great trees, their branches
shutting out the sunlight and making a mysterious green dimness.

For a long time nothing unusual appeared and the Hermit grew impatient,
half believing that his experience had been but a trick of the
imagination. He had