illusion that has faded away into the 

 past, and is not worth while ; that the 

 real life is to be free, to fly over the 

 grassy mountain meadow with never 

 a limitation offence or house, with the 

 eternal peaks towering around you, ter- 

 rible in their grandeur and vastness, yet 

 inviting. 



We struck the trail all right, we 

 thought, but it soon disappeared and 

 we had to govern our course by imagi- 

 nation, an uncertain guide at best. We 

 got into dreadful tangles of timber; the 

 country was all strange, and the trees 

 spread over the mountain for miles, so 

 that it was like trying to find the way 

 under a blanket ; but we kept on rid- 

 ing our horses over fallen logs and 

 squeezing them between trees, all the 

 time keeping a sharp watch over them, 

 for they were fresh and scary. 



