Bife on 



among scattered pines, trying to carpet their 

 cathedral floor. Many a summer day I have lain 

 down and rested on these flat and fluffy forest 

 rugs, while between the tangled tops of the pines 

 I looked at the blue of the sky or watched the 

 white clouds so serenely floating there. Many a 

 summer night upon these elastic spreads I have 

 lain and gazed at the thick-sown stars, or watched 

 the ebbing, fading camp-fire, at last to fall asleep 

 and to rest as sweetly and serenely as ever did 

 the Scotchman upon his heathered Highlands. 

 Many a morning I have awakened late after a 

 sleep 59 long that I had settled into the yielding 

 mass and Kinnikinick had put up an arm, either 

 to shield my face with its hand, or to show me, 

 when I should awaken, its pretty red berries and 

 bright green leaves. 



One morning, while visiting in a Blackfoot In- 

 dian camp, I saw the men smoking kinnikinick 

 leaves, and I asked if they had any legend concern- 

 ing the shrub. I felt sure they must have a fasci- 

 nating story of it which told of the Great Spirit's 

 love for Kinnikinick, but they had none. One 

 of them said he had heard the Piute Indians tell 



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