mil aloiitf th('ir songs fill tin* air with welcome. 

 And so we drive on, the fair scenery ever changing 

 until we reach the top of Woodman's Hill. From 

 here one has the first view of Red Camp, standing 

 amid the trees in the distance, a silent guard of 

 the river. And such tales couM it tell of the bat- 

 tit -s with salmon that wise people might say nay! 

 Down the hill we go, rushing across the tumble- 

 down bridge that spans White Brook, whose 

 waters, clear as crystal, find their way to the 

 river; then up a slight knoll; and then, with an 

 extra crack of the whip, away we speed across the 

 plain to a big white gate, which is quickly thrown 

 open ; and, pulling up at the door, we are at last at 

 Red Camp. 



Oh, how good it is to be back again and once 

 more to gaze upon the old red house ! Well have 

 its shiugles withstood the storms of the winter; 

 they seem to grow brighter and brighter at our 

 arrival, and the little white linen curtains peeping 

 out from the windows add even a greater charm. 

 The old tree at the garden, the willows planted 

 many years ago all look fresher and younger. 

 Even the river flowing at the foot of the sloping 

 field is more beautiful than ever, and the weird 

 old mountains surrounding the camp seem to have 

 taken on new grandeur; in fact, everything has 

 become dearer since I last left this restful spot. 

 A feeling of sadness comes over me when I 



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