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bound after bound, flying over the fallen logs, pausing neither for brook nor ravine. The baying of the hounds grew fainter behind.

After running at high speed perhaps half a mile farther, it occurred to her that it would be safe now to turn 5 to the west, and, by a wide circuit, seek her fawn. But at the moment she heard a sound that chilled her heart. It was the cry of a hound to the west of her. There was nothing to do but to keep on, and on she went, with the noise of the pack behind her.

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In five minutes more she had passed into a hillside clearing. She heard a tinkle of bells. Below her, down the mountain slope were other clearings broken by patches of woods. A mile or two down lay the valley and the farmhouses. That way also her enemies were. Not a 15 merciful heart in all that lovely valley. She hesitated; it was only for an instant.

She must cross the Slide Brook valley, if possible, and gain the mountain opposite. She bounded on; she stopped. What was that? From the valley ahead came the cry of 20 a searching hound. Every way was closed but one, and that led straight down the mountain to the cluster of houses. The hunted doe went down "the open," clearing the fences, flying along the stony path.

As she approached Slide Brook, she saw a boy standing 25 by a tree with a raised rifle. The dogs were not in sight, but she could hear them coming down the hill. There

was no time for hesitation. With a tremendous burst of speed she cleared the stream, and as she touched the bank heard the "ping" of a rifle bullet in the air above her. The cruel sound gave wings to the poor thing. 5 In a moment more she leaped into the traveled road. Women and children ran to the doors and windows; men snatched their rifles. There were twenty people who were just going to shoot her, when the doe leaped the road fence, and went away across a marsh toward the 10 foothills.

By this time the dogs, panting and lolling out their tongues, came swinging along, keeping the trail, like stupids, and consequently losing ground when the deer doubled. But when the doe had got into the timber, 15 she heard the savage brutes howling across the meadow. (It is well enough, perhaps, to say that nobody offered to shoot the dogs.)

The courage of the panting fugitive was not gone, but the fearful pace at which she had been going told on her. 20 Her legs trembled, and her heart beat like a trip hammer. She slowed her speed, but still fled up the right bank of the stream. The dogs were gaining again, and she crossed the broad, deep brook. The fording of the river threw the hounds off for a time. She used the little respite

25 to push on until the baying was faint in her ears.

Late in the afternoon she staggered down the shoulder of Bartlett, and stood upon the shore of the lake. If she

could put that piece of water between her and her pursuers, she would be safe. Had she strength to swim it?

At her first step into the water she saw a sight that sent her back with a bound. There was a boat mid-lake; two men were in it. One was rowing; the other had a gun in his hand. What should she do? With only a moment's hesitation she plunged into the lake. Her tired legs could not propel the tired body rapidly.

The doe saw the boat nearing her. She turned to the shore whence she came; the dogs were lapping the water 10 and howling there. She turned again to the center of the lake. The brave, pretty creature was quite exhausted now. In a moment more the boat was on her and the man at the oars had leaned over and caught her.

"Knock her on the head with that paddle!" he shouted 15 to the gentleman in the stern. The gentleman was a gentleman, with a kind face. He took the paddle in his hand. Just then the doe turned her head and looked at him with her great appealing eyes.

"I can't do it! I can't do it!" and he dropped the 20 paddle. "Oh, let her go!"

But the guide slung the deer round, whipped out his hunting knife, and made a pass that severed her jugular. And the gentleman ate that night of the venison.

Abridged.

Bartlett: a mountain in the Adirondacks. -ju'gular: one of the large

veins which return the blood from the head to the heart.

SEPTEMBER

While summer days grew brown and old,
A wizard delved in mines of gold;
No idler he- by night, by day,
He smiled and sang and worked away.
And, scorning thrift, with lavish hand
He cast his gold across the land.

Still smiling, o'er the trees he wound
Long russet scarfs with crimson bound;
He drew a veil of purple haze
O'er distant hills where cattle graze;
He bathed the sun in amber mist,
And steeped the sky in amethyst.

Low in the east, for crowning boon,
He hung the golden harvest moon;
And donned his coat of frosty white
As twilight deepened into night.
Then to the roll call of the year
September answered, "I am here!

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AUTUMN COLORS

HENRY WARD BEECHER

HENRY WARD BEECHER (1813-1887) was a popular American preacher and writer. He was noted for his active interest in reform work.

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This is one of the mysterious and bewitching days. Surely it is not that the summer is ended, the green year passing, the winter coming, that gives such 5 peculiar influence to the days. Something has been poured out into the air from the land of magic. It has been steeped with atmospheric wine, and we drink by breathing a subtile and invigorating elixir.

The blue is tender and pale. The skies are full of 10 clouds this one opening, shutting, melting, re-forming, and so through all the changes; this one making haste, as if called to some distant battle, and fiercely driving on in heat to the rendezvous; or if milder thoughts prevail, then they seem like mighty flocks of fleecy 15 birds, gathered from the summer hatching-haunts of the north, and borne southward by the annual impulse of migration.

But such is the depth, the beauty, and the mystic influence of the heavens, that to look up long into its cope affects 20 you with giddiness, such as men feel who look down from great heights. And then, too, the color of all things is changing, not changed, but only hinting color.

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