There hasn't been so thrillingly interesting an age to be alive since
that remote time when the Creation was going on. Except for moments of
tired nerves, like this, it is very stimulating, and I find myself
stepping out much more briskly since I threw my extra wraps and bundles
beside the road. Here on my hill-top I have even enjoyed a little of
that charm of unencumberedness that all vagabonds know--and later if I
come to some steep stretches I shall be more likely to make the top, for
I'm resolved to "travel light."
There is usually one serpent in Eden, if it is only a garter snake. Ours
was a frog in the fountain. He had a volume of sound equal to Edouard de
Reske in his prime. I set the chauffeur the task of catching him, but
after emptying out all the water one little half-inch frog skipped off,
and John assured me that he could never be the offender. But he was
"Edouard" in spite of appearances, for he returned at dusk and took up
the refrain just where he had left off. I decided to hunt him myself. It
was like the game of "magic music" that we used to play as children:
loud and you are "warm"; soft and you are far away. I never caught him.
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