Then cane the raw days of late October, when the crows went flying southward before the wind--a noisy pirate fleet that filled the sky at times--and when we all put on our mittens and went down the winding cow-paths to the grove of butternuts in the pasture.

The great roof of the wilderness had turned red and faded into yellow.

Soon its rafters began to show through, and then, in a day or two, they were all bare but for some patches of evergreen.

Great, golden drifts of foliage lay higher than a man's head in the timber land about the clearing.

We had our best fun then, playing 'I spy' in the groves.
In that fragrant deep of leaves one might lie undiscovered a long time.
He could hear roaring like that of water at every move of the finder, wallowing nearer and nearer possibly, in his search.