136 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



the warmth of the fire, the aroma of the pines, 

 and the low, shivery remarks of the ghostly owner 

 of the grove. Instead of being alarmed by our 

 landing, the light of our fire, and the sound of 

 our voices, the dark phantom of the pines seemed 

 to be attracted by these unusual interruptions. 

 The voice grew louder and more distinct. Its 

 winged source came nearer from tree top to tree 

 top, until it settled in the tallest, darkest pine 

 in the grove, almost immediately over our 

 heads. It was unlike any other voice I had ever 

 heard. It possessed a contralto quality ; it was 

 laden with intense emotion, yet it was calm and 

 singularly regular both in its sounds and in its 

 silences. In spite of its softness and the slight 

 trembling in its tones, it suggested power, a 

 power sufficient to raise a trumpet note audible 

 a mile away. 



Ten o'clock came and went, and we sought our 

 cocoons. Over the opening in my Rob Roy a 

 rubber blanket was arranged to button tightly, 

 leaving space only for my face. Over the entire 

 canoe, supported by a cord run from a short niast 

 aft to the short mast near the bows, was drawn 

 a waterproof tont having two little netting- 

 covered windows in its gable ends. Wrapped in 

 my wool blanket, tightly buttoned under the 

 rubber blanket, I sighed, thought how sleepy I 

 was, how well the canoe sustained my weary 



