54 FOREST OUTINGS 



children, some of them wandered over to the water, but the minute lunch 

 was over, they were whisked away in the car, back on the road ; and once 

 again I had the place to myself. 



During the afternoon the owners of the deserted trailers came back. 

 They had been sightseeing in the park. They sat around and talked and 

 rested. They were at home on the road — time was their privilege. 



From about 5 on, every now and then a car turned off the road and 

 slipped down to the campground. Quickly they would pitch camp and eat 

 supper. They were tired and quiet. A young German boy and girl from 

 Boston camped on one side of me. They wore heavy boots and their bare, 

 knobby knees stuck out under their shorts. On the other side were two 

 couples from Ohio. They rolled out their blankets on the ground. If it 

 had rained, they would have slept in their car. But it didn't rain although 

 the lightning played in the mountains. Instead, the moon came out and 

 made patterns under the trees and just before I fell asleep, I saw another 

 car come in. The occupants ate quickly in the glare of their headlights, 

 quietly, and turned in. 



When I woke next morning, it was very early. The sun had not yet 

 reached the valley. The mist spiraled over the stream. The Ohio people 

 were leaving. The running engine of their car had wakened me. Others 

 were stirring. I lay lazily, half awake, watching them pack up and leave. 

 By 9:30 only the trailers were left and the German boy and girl. They were 

 busy writing postcards on their log table. Then they left, too. 



From coast to coast there are thousands like these, on the go. Some like 

 to keep moving, they are restless; but there are others, too, who like to run 

 away and be quiet in some bit of high, timbered land near the sky. 



Others . . . And so they come, these guests of our forests, in their thou- 

 sands and hundreds of thousands, and rest for awhile, most of them. For- 

 esters sent afield not assigned especially to explore the joys, the troubles, the 

 tangled life lines of the forest visitors (as the girl reporter just quoted was) 

 also hear their stories. Even more than in Pullman smokers, turkish baths, 

 and beauty parlors, there seems to be something in natural and primitive 

 surroundings which leads joyous, troubled, or beaten wanderers in the modern 



