LOST MAN'S PARK 171 



slay, entered the mountains one blustering fall with 

 inadequate supplies, and a little later, lost and ill, 

 seated himself at the foot of the huge tree which 

 forms now his titanic tombstone and there died, his 

 purpose unfulfilled and his heart bitter within him. 

 This, averred the more imaginative, was the reason 

 why the spirit of the Lost Man stole forth still some- 

 times in the dead of night and pursued once more 

 through the dark corridors of the forest the unfin- 

 ished quest of days gone by. 



The park was a pleasant place by daylight, under 

 the golden sun. A court of waving grasses and wild 

 flowers of many colours, a bower of sweet odours 

 and bright hues, a rare spot to lie and dream, in the 

 hours when work was over, gazing lazily upward 

 at the blue circle of sky with its dark border of 

 softly stirring tree tops. The tiny glade had a 

 charm. We spent all our leisure moments there. 

 And our words and thoughts were ever of life as 

 was natural and of living things, with never, or 

 rarely, a glance or a passing mention for that 

 menacing hint of mortality, the stony grave close by. 



It was otherwise at night. A few of us strolled 

 over after supper on the evening of the day we made 

 camp. "We sat on a little rise overlooking the park 

 and built a fire for warmth, though the night was 

 more than ordinarily mild. But the firelight in our 

 eyes blew out the soft winking stars and I moved 

 away before long, a little distance from the flames, 

 the better to enjoy the scene. 



