122 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



ing logs roll upon him. With a steep ascent behind 

 it, the fire burned better, and the wind was not so 

 apt to drive the smoke and blaze in upon him. 

 Then, with the long, curving branches of the spruce 

 stuck thickly around three sides of the bed, and 

 curving over and uniting their tops above it, a 

 shelter was formed that would keep out the cold 

 and the snow, and that would catch and retain the 

 warmth of the fire. Kolled in his blanket in such 

 a nest, Uncle Nathan had passed hundreds of the 

 most frigid winter nights. 



One day we made an excursion of three miles 

 through the woods to Bald Mountain, following a 

 dim trail. We saw, as we filed silently along, 

 plenty of signs of caribou, deer, and bear, but were 

 not blessed with a sight of either of the animals 

 themselves. I noticed that Uncle Nathan, in look- 

 ing through the woods, did not hold his head as 

 we did, but thrust it slightly forward, and peered 

 under the branches like a deer, or other wild crea- 

 ture. 



The summit of Bald Mountain was the most 

 impressive mountain-top I had ever seen, mainly, 

 perhaps, because it was one enormous crown of 

 nearly naked granite. The rock had that gray, 

 elemental, eternal look which granite alone has. 

 One seemed to be face to face with the gods of the 

 fore- world. Like an atom, like a breath of to-day, 

 we were suddenly confronted by abysmal geologic 

 time, — the eternities past and the eternities to 

 come. The enormous cleavage of the rocks, the 



