78 IN SEARCH OF THE BLUE J AY. 



sought an alpenstock. I abandoned all impedi- 

 menta. I started up that stony path escorted on 

 each side by a close rank of spruce. It was ex- 

 ceedingly steep, for the way of a brook on this 

 mountain-side is a constant succession of falls. 

 I scrambled over rocks ; I stumbled on rolling 

 stones; I "caught "on twigs and dead branches; 

 I crept under fallen tree trunks ; the way grew 

 darker and more winding. How merrily had the 

 water rushed down this path, so hard to go up ! 

 How easy for it to do so again ! Nothing seemed 

 so natural. I began to look and listen for it. 



A mysterious reluctance to penetrating the 

 heart of the mountain by this unknown and 

 strangely hewn path stole over me. I felt like 

 an intruder. Who could tell what the next turn 

 might reveal? On a fallen trunk that barred 

 my way I seated myself to rest. The silence 

 was oppressive ; not a bird called, not a squirrel 

 chattered, not an insect hummed. The whole 

 forest was one vast, deep, overwhelming soli- 

 tude. I felt my slightest rustle an imperti- 

 nence; I could not utter a sound; surely the 

 spirit of the wood was near! A strange excite- 

 ment, almost amounting to terror, possessed me. 

 I turned and fled — that is to say, crept — down 

 my steep and winding stair, back to the bars 

 where I had taken leave of civilization (in the 

 shape of one farmhouse). 



