GLEN CO E 27 



To the north loom the black chimneys of 

 Waukegan, the first reminder since we entered the 

 ravine that we are still in the busy world. In this 

 direction the beach becomes narrow and rocky 

 and impassable, and the bluff rises sheer and bare 

 a hundred feet. To the south the sandy beach 

 grows wider and the prospect is less forbidding, 

 so we all go to look at the great glacier-scored 

 bowlder that is sliding out of the bluff on its way 

 to the water. 



As the cold wind conquers us one by one, we 

 retreat from the wintry beach to the spring-time 

 warmth of the ravine, and here we lie in the warm 

 sun and dig hepaticas to take to our little wild 

 garden. 



With baskets overflowing, and wonderful arm- 

 fuls of soft gray willow and brown hazel, bright- 

 ened by the glowing red of the maple flowers, we 

 climb up into Sheridan Road and take the path 

 through the woods to the station. It will take us 

 but a few minutes to go back, although we were 

 hours coming down the ravine. We emerge 

 from the woods close to our golden willow clump 

 of the morning. 



If we have been as slow as we should be, the 

 sun will be sinking red behind the woods of 

 Wilmette as we come through. It will be dusk as 



