80 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 
of ravens, which usually frequent only the loneliest 
and most inaccessible parts of the mountains. 
The trail led through deep forests and up and across 
mountains, and was so covered with ice and snow as 
to be difficult going. At one point the Collector 
showed me a place where he had been walking 
years ago, when he suddenly became conscious that 
he was being followed by something or somebody. 
At a point where the trail doubled on itself, he ran 
back swiftly and silently, just in time to see a bay- 
lynx — which had been trailing him, as those big 
cats sometimes will — dive into a nearby thicket. 
Anon he cheered the way with snake stories, for Seven 
Mountains in summer swarm with rattlesnakes and 
copperheads. 
By the time he had finished it was dark, and I 
thought with a great longing of food and fire — 
especially fire. It did not seem possible to be so cold 
and still live. In the very nick of time, for me at 
least, we caught sight of the lamplight streaming 
from the windows of the Squire’s house. Dripping, 
chilled, tired, and starving, we burst into Mrs. 
McMahon’s immaculate kitchen and were treated 
by the old couple like a pair of long-lost sons. In 
less than two minutes our waterlogged shoes were off, 
our wet coats and sogged sweaters spread out to 
dry, and we sat huddled over a glowing stove while 
Mrs. McMahon fried fish, made griddle-cakes, and 
brewed hot tea simultaneously and with a swiftness 
that just saved two lives. We ate and ate and ate 
and ate, and then, in a huge feather-bed, we slept 
