June 8th.
Howdy-do, Brother Bobolink! How in the world did you guess I was coming this way?
—Es ist nun einmal so.
Kein Dichter reist incognito!
Ah, to be out in the open air again, to see the world green and beautiful; to run with the wind and look at the flowers and listen to the birds! I am sitting by a spring; I have eaten my dinner.
I turned my steps Jerseyward.
—I have been walking all day. I must find some place to stop very soon. I can not think of the country with this burden on me. I am like a sick animal—I seek a hiding-place. I fancied I might think of my work on the way, but I can not. The world is happy; my work is not happy.
My hope is all in the end of the journey, and the walking is drudgery. And then, my money is going! I must find some sort of a hut—a tumble-down house, an old barn—anything.
I shall trudge one more day's journey. Then I think I shall be far enough from New York.