The woods gave into a birch clearing where I almost stepped on a marble slab nearly concealed by grass and brush. Time had worn the soft stone but part of the inscription was legible. "To the memory of Major Henry Anderson, an officer in the Army of the Revolution." I dug a trench with a flat stone and reset the slab upright, thinking of many things as I worked. Here was the grave of a man who fought to found our nation, within ten miles of Portland, Maine, completely forgotten! I wondered too if the depression near where I built a fire and broiled a couple of chops for lunch, marked the site of his home? It may have been for the foundation stones had fallen and the time when they had been a wall might easily correspond with the date on the monument — 1796.

An intermitent snow commenced falling. Gray thots — gray sky — gray woods.

"We ponder for a moment, then forget.
And life goes rushing past our fading dust."

Presently, cheery lisping notes came into the silence of that bleak November day and fluffy atoms of olive feathers skipped inquisitively in the leafless limbs.

"What, ho! Shipmates — here's a strange bird without a crown — let's show him what he lacks."

Three performers came to stage center, spread tails and wings, puffed side feathers; threw heads forward and expanded their ruby crests until the glowing color suffused the entire top of their heads. The rest of the troop tweetered emphatic applause while they danced excitedly about. When an actor tired of proving his crown was the best, another took his place and the show continued until each male had his turn in the limelight of their own and my approval. Neutral background brot out the dancing rubies with wonderful intensity and my eyes held the jewels so easily that thots grew warmer, too.

Suddenly, as tho an unseen stage director had signaled "curtain," the show ceased and the dainty, happy-hearted little troopers disappeared in dim spruce recesses.

"Only the mightier movements sound in passing;
Winds and rivers, life and death."