A BED OF BOUGHS 



The day was quite spent before we had pitched 

 our air-woven tent and prepared our dinner, and we 

 gathered boughs for our bed in the gloaming. Break- 

 fast had to be caught in the morning and was not 

 served early, so that it was nine o'clock before we 

 were in motion. A little bird, the red-eyed vireo, 

 warbled most cheerily in the trees above our camp, 

 and, as Aaron said, " gave us a good send-off." We 

 kept down the stream, following the inevitable bark 

 road. 



My companion had refused to look at another 

 *' dividing ridge " that had neither path nor way, 

 and henceforth I must keep to the open road or 

 travel alone. Two hours' tramp brought us to an 

 old clearing with some rude, tumble-down log 

 buildings that many years before had been occupied 

 by the bark and lumber men. The prospect for 

 trout was so good in the stream hereabouts, and the 

 scene so peaceful and inviting, shone upon by the 

 dreamy August sun, that we concluded to tarry here 

 until the next day. It was a page of pioneer history 

 opened to quite unexpectedly. A dim footpath 

 led us a few yards to a superb spring, in which a 

 trout from the near creek had taken up his abode. 

 We took possession of what had been a shingle-shop, 

 attracted by its huge fireplace. We floored it with 

 balsam boughs, hung its walls with our " traps," 

 and sent the smoke curling again from its disused 

 chimney. 



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