56 Travels in a Tree-top 



Here, at the mouth of Dead River, we be- 

 held a pretty sight. A wood-duck with her 

 brood rushed over the water in a most lively 

 manner, flecking the black expanse with 

 patches of white foam. Such incidents add 

 much to such a journey. An empty forest 

 is as forbidding as an empty house. 



In the coves there were changes from the 

 surrounding scenery that were not to be over- 

 looked. A rank growth of golden-club rest- 

 ing on the dark waters was very striking. 

 The picture was such as we see on a Claude 

 Lorrain glass. Near by fresh sphagnum in 

 a shallow pool was bronze and green : a place 

 for frogs to squat unseen, but I could find none. 

 How often this happens ! At the very places 

 where we think animal life will be in abun- 

 dance we can find no trace of it. Then, look- 

 ing up, we see but trees. No break in the 

 line that hems us in. Trees old and young, 

 trees living and dead, great and small ; nothing 

 but trees. 



The wind freshened as the day grew old, 

 and doubly troubled were the waters. There 

 was no rest for them now, even in sheltered 

 nooks, and it was only by sturdy strokes of 

 the oars that we made headway at all. There 



