A MAY VISIT TO MOOSILAUKE 15 



remember another collie, much younger than 

 this one, with whom I once had a minute or two 

 of friendly intercourse. Then, months afterward, 

 I went again by the house where he lived, and 

 he came dashing out with all fierceness, as if he 

 would rend me in pieces. I let him come (there 

 was nothing else to do, or nothing else worth 

 doing), but the instant his nose struck me he 

 saw his error. Then, in a flash, he dropped flat 

 on the ground, and literally licked my shoes. 

 There was no attitude abject enough to express 

 the depth of his humiliation. And then, like the 

 dog of this morning, he jumped up, and ran 

 with all speed back to his doorstep. 



Another descent into the gorge of Baker's 

 River, and another stop on the bridge (how 

 gloriously the water comes down !), and I am 

 again in the pretty, broken woods below the 

 hotel. Here my attention is attracted by an 

 almost prostrate but still vigorous yellow birch, 

 like the one that stood for so many years by the 

 road below the Profile House, in the Franconia 

 Notch. Somehow the tree got an awkward slant 

 in its youth, and has always kept it, while the 

 larger branches have grown straight upward, at 

 right angles with the trunk, as if each were trying 

 to be a tree on its own account. The Franconia 

 Notch specimen became a landmark, and was 



