CHOCORUA. 211 



The stage turned into a narrow ribbon road 

 lined with white-stemmed birches. The road 

 pointed straight towards Chocorua, whose vast 

 base rose like a wall across the north, meeting 

 the even line of white cloud which concealed its 

 peak. To the right, glimpses of water revealed 

 the position of Chocorua Lake. The ribbon 

 road led to a red-roofed cottage in the midst of 

 an ancient orchard, and there stopped. This cot- 

 tage stands within the limits of the wilderness. 

 In winter the snow lies around it in deep drifts, 

 and for many weeks at a time no snowshoe 

 leaves its latticed imprint near. The moun- 

 tain broods over it, and when in cold nights the 

 groaning of the ice gives the lake voice, it tells 

 the cottage the story of its journey from the sky 

 and its plans for reaching the sea. From the 

 days after the civil war until five years ago, this 

 cottage was the home of the children of the 

 forest. Man left it to be shingled by lichens 

 and glazed by cobwebs. Snow lay deep in its 

 attic, pewees nested in the angles of its rooms, 

 snakes and skunks dwelt in its foundations, 

 generations of swifts were hatched in its chim- 

 ney, and chipmunks frolicked in its empty rooms. 

 To the deer, the crow, the fox, and the hedge- 

 hog, this house had no terrors. It had ceased 

 to belong to man. Although of late years it 

 has been my home, I have done what I can to 



