1 62 " Dead Trees Love the Fire" 



children finding health and spirits in it, a few 

 books and magazines, and the prospect of 

 several hours of hard, healthy work in the 

 woods before we make sail for home as the 

 sun goes down. The boom of the surf is 

 the only sound that comes to us as we reach 

 the middle of the bay and head straight for the 

 little half-rotten dock which is all that is left 

 of some improvements made years ago by a 

 company of speculators who expected to estab- 

 lish a summer resort at the point we are steer- 

 ing for. Away to the north of us a puff of 

 steam or smoke shows where the locomotive is 

 dragging those poor wretches off to their daily 

 treadmill. How very far away all such life 

 seems ! If it were not for the daily newspapers, 

 I should almost forget that there were so many 

 miserable beings grinding out their few years 

 of existence with so utter a disregard of the 

 essential facts in the case. That puff of smoke 

 is the last reminder of civilization that we shall 

 have during the day before we sight our village 

 again. As the last line of Thoreau's chapter 

 is read, the boat swings round into the breeze 

 and Arthur jumps ashore and makes us fast, 



