MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



her beloved master's first call, and back she will 

 hasten at his bidding, no matter how far she may 

 have strayed. 



The master lies on the ground over yonder, 

 wrapped in his protecting blanket, for the heavy 

 dews are falling and he has no shelter. His hat 

 is drawn down over his brow, but from under the 

 soft rim he gazes up into the sky from which the 

 last of the sunset lights are fading. Never has 

 it seemed so vast to him as now, and, though he 

 knows no fear, a great sense of loneliness takes 

 possession of him. An overpowering conscious- 

 ness of remoteness, of vastness, and aloneness. 

 Here he was to have found shelter and human 

 companionship, but through some misunder- 

 standing his comrades have failed him. Like 

 himself, they are searchers for treasure hidden in 

 the earth's heart, and they are perhaps not many 

 miles away, but a night search for them would be 

 perilous and fruitless. The traveller must wait 

 for the day. 



As the twilight deepens, the loneliness grows 

 more intense and oppressive. No sound breaks 

 the solemn stillness. The man hears not even 

 the ripple of the dancing stream ; it is too remote. 

 If sleep would only come! 

 [180] 



