CHAPTER XI 



CHILDREN OF MY TRAIL SCHOOL 



ONE summer day nearly twenty years ago a 

 number of boys and girls appeared at my 

 Rocky Mountain cabin. They wanted me 

 to go with them to the old beaver colony. A boy 

 and a girl started making the request, but before 

 they could finish every child was asking me to go. 

 "It is more than two miles," I told them, "and we 

 must walk." This but added to their desire to go 

 at once. 



Stepping softly and without saying a word, we 

 slipped through the woods and peeped from be- 

 hind the last trees into a grassy opening by the 

 beaver pond, hoping for a glimpse of a coyote or a 

 deer. Then we examined the stumps of aspens 

 recently cut by the beavers. We walked across 

 the dam. We made a little raft of logs and went 

 out to the island house in the pond. Then we 

 built tiny beaver houses and also dugouts in the 

 bank. We played we were beavers. 



On the way home we turned aside from the trail 

 to investigate a delightful bit of forested wilder- 

 ness between two brooks. We were explorers in a 

 new country. The grove was dense and full of 



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