LIFE IN A SEASIDE SUMMER SCHOOL. 



81 



Breakfast eaten, and the camp mail secured, my genial geological 

 friend advises me to prepare to take the trail to the camp several 

 miles away, which I do by putting on canvas leggings and stout hob- 

 nailed shoes. We try to dicker with the Indians (familiarly known 

 as the 'Siwashes') to take our heavy luggage to the camp by canoe, 

 but they are lazy and rapacious, and refuse to do so unless we pay 

 several times the usual price, which we in turn refuse to do. So we 

 take what we need most and start out over the trail. And such a 

 trail ! It begins fair enough, looking quite like an ordinary trail, 

 but soon it changes into a mere path, and then abruptly drops down 

 the slippery sides of a canyon, crosses a stream, and runs straight up 



The Minnesota Seaside Station ; Living House in the Background ; 

 Laboratories in the Foreground. 



the other side. The geologist leads the way, carefully planting his- 

 feet in the notches in the canyon side, and I follow, thankful for the 

 big hob-nails in my shoes. He jumps the stream, and so do I, and 

 then he scrambles up the steep wall on the other side, and I follow, 

 puffing and panting. At the next canyon the trail literally takes to 

 the trees, crossing by a fallen tree Avhose trunk is slippery with damp 

 mosses and lichens. Those blessed hob-nailed shoes do their duty, and 

 I reach the other side safely, only to find my companion far ahead 

 crawling under some fallen trees under which the trail runs. 



But all things come to an end, and so does this wonderful trail. 



vol. lxvii. — 6 



