BIRCH BROWSINGS 165 



iously through the trees for a glimpse of the lake, 

 or for some conformation of the land that would 

 indicate its proximity. An object which we vaguely 

 discerned in looking under the near trees and over 

 the more distant ones proved, on further inspection, 

 to be a patch of plowed ground. Presently we 

 made out a burnt fallow near it. This was a wet 

 blanket to our enthusiasm. No lake, no sport, no 

 trout for supper that night. The rather indolent 

 young man had either played us a trick, or, as 

 seemed more likely, had missed the way. We were 

 particularly anxious to be at the lake between sun- 

 down and dark, as at that time the trout jump 

 most freely. 



Pushing on, we soon emerged into a stumpy field, 

 at the head of a steep valley, which swept around 

 toward the west. About two hundred rods below 

 us was a rude log house, with smoke issuing from 

 the chimney. A boy came out and moved toward 

 the spring with a pail in his hand. We shouted to 

 him, when he turned and ran back into the house 

 without pausing to reply. In a moment the whole 

 family hastily rushed into the yard, and turned 

 their faces toward us. If we had come down their 

 chimney, they could not have seemed more aston- 

 ished. Not making out what they said, I went 

 down to the house, and learned to my chagrin that 

 we were still on the Mill Brook side, having crossed 

 only a spur of the mountain. We had not borne 

 sufficiently to the left, so that the main range, 

 which, at the point of crossing, suddenly breaks off 



