IS's MJoe * Mo&er 



ing off to-day to find find as we did by walking 

 toward nowhere, ignoring the compass and trusting 

 in fate. 



It was the wildest trout brook that ever flowed 

 from a man's memory ; it dashed, swirled, laughed and 

 sobbed through a mountain whose echoes had hitherto 

 answered only the voices of wildest creatures. Across 

 the stream, felled by some Titanic storm of fifty 

 or more years before, were giant tree trunks. On 

 all sides every trace of ground was hidden by a tan- 

 gle of millions of mountain laurel. And in the twi- 

 light shadows under great stones flashed the 

 speckled trout. In the far forest cracked a bough, 

 and the unknown voice of some animal came to us 

 on the wind. On, on, on we followed the brook, and 

 when the light was dying and we were too, there 

 suddenly loomed the ruins of an old mill; by its si- 

 lent gray wheel stood two boys with the eyes of 

 startled fauns. They gave one frightened look and 

 disappeared in the brush, but we followed with a rush 

 and came out upon a little clearing where stood an 

 unpainted cabin whose walls were almost covered with 

 the drying skins of wild animals. A sad-eyed woman 

 sat on the rude porch, three frightened children cling- 

 ing to her. If we had been bears she would probably 



