CHAPTER III. 



Morning always comos-to the gay reveller who has 

 exhausted all the night in feasting, drink and song, and 

 drunken laughter,-to the weary watcher hy sick l^eds,- 

 to the fever-tossed, the sorrow -laden, the care-hurdened,— 

 to the toilers and guardians of the night,-to the dwellers 

 in palaces, pillowed on down.— and to men in a hut, sleep- 

 ing on hushes, all in a row. It didn't skip us,-and eight 

 men yawningly hailed the early dawn, and crawled, out of 



the cabin. 



The sun was just peering over the mountain across the 

 lake, and flinging his silvery-golden l>eams down upon 

 the sparkling waters. The forests in their morning fresh- 

 ness wore a tenderer green. The sweet morning air was 

 fragrant with balsam and spruce and mossy earth. The 

 cross-bills flitted in startled and darting flight from our 

 cabin roof, to the neighboring trees, and back again, utter- 

 ing their quick, sharp notes, in search of the crumbs from 

 our table. Nature's own morning hour, unvexed by the 

 smoke and dust and busy rumble and roar of civilized 

 life, had come to the wilderness. 



' ' How do you like it V" said Benson, after quietly watch- 

 ing me a few moments as I gazed in evident, keen enjoy- 

 ment of the scene. "'Beautiful' isn't any word for it,— 



