Giving and Receiving

The call of the Jungle Folk, "Good hunting," was not fulfilled during
Donald's day in the forest. Game there was aplenty, but he made clumsy
work of following the fresh tracks in the wet wood mould, and missed the
one wild creature that he saw, for he shot at it rather by instinct than
design, and was not sorry that his bullet went wide. Indeed, love of the
out-of-doors and the thrill of the chase, rather than the wish to slay,
drew him into the woods for his brief respites from work and for
recreation each summer. He seldom killed except for food; the convulsive
pain-drawn death struggle, the cry of mortal agony, and the despairing
look in the glazed eyes of dumb, stricken animals held no fascination
for him. He saw too much of such things among human beings.

The day, truly, was a glory. The storm of the previous night had cleared
and revivified the air, which, for many days, had been oppressively
sultry; the irregular patches of sky, glimpsed through the branches,
were a transparent blue; the springy ground was bright with wild
blossoms and colorful berries,--dogwood and service berry,--adder's
tongue, bleeding heart and ferns in rich profusion. His subconscious
senses drank in the manifold beauties, but his active mind was otherwise
engaged.

To-day the solitude, usually so appealing, so restful after fifty
work-filled weeks amid the noisy turmoil of the city's life, lacked
something of its customary charm and satisfaction. The man found himself
with a real longing for the companionship of the simple old man and the
intimate appeal of the child, whose acquaintance he had enjoyed for a
few hours only. It was on them, rather than on his present occupation,
that his thoughts were bent.