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Then your pipe comes as naturally as a deep breath of the forest-scented air, and you take your rod and minnows and wander up the bank through the weeds and the dewy grass. Under the shadow of that old, half-sunken log is where the bass stay. The water is deep and clear, and your hook sinks with a low gurgle, like an infant's laughter. What matters it whether a bite comes at once, or not?
For a quarter of an hour longer Kent mopped at the floor of the scow, and then with a suddenness that drew him up as if a whip-lash had snapped behind him he caught another aroma in the clean, forest-scented air. It was bacon and coffee! He had believed that Marette was taking her time in putting on dry footwear and making some sort of morning toilet. Instead of that, she was getting breakfast.
For a quarter of an hour longer Kent mopped at the floor of the scow, and then with a suddenness that drew him up as if a whip-lash had snapped behind him he caught another aroma in the clean, forest-scented air. It was bacon and coffee! He had believed that Marette was taking her time in putting on dry footwear and making some sort of morning toilet. Instead of that, she was getting breakfast.
You have got into your book a kind of life not in literature before, and you have got it there simply and frankly. It is 'as pure as water and as good as bread." Edmund Clarence Stedman says of it: "It is a forest-scented, fresh-aired, bracing, and wholly American story of country and town life." By IRVING BACHELLER, author of "Eben Holden." Seven drawings by F. C. Yohn.
Between his feet there was a notch cut half-way through the wood. In this white gash the blade of his axe was driven solidly, and he rested his hands on the rigid haft while he stood drawing gulps of forest-scented air into his lungs. Mr. Thompson was not gifted with eyes in the back of his head.
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