214 BOOK OF A HUNDRED BEARS 



you are not there to kill them — ah! then you feel 

 again as you did when the world was young. And 

 then the delicious fatigue, so different from the 

 weariness of everyday life, when at last you strike 

 camp, unsaddle, water your horse, see that his 

 picket-rope is just right and that the grass is good! 

 The savory smell of the elusive trout cooking in the 

 pan, the stricken deer hanging to a tree, promising 

 a breakfast of deer's liver, the most delicate of 

 camp dishes, the anxious search for a smooth spot 

 to spread the blankets, where the forest mattress 

 shall be just right, the pine needles not too thin 

 nor the cones too thick for a forest bed. 



And eat! No one has ever known good eating 

 till he has sat at the fire and eaten from an iron 

 plate, his hunting knife for a fork, while Dan cooks 

 and cooks till one can hold no more. 



Just below, the* little stream goes wandering 

 and whispering to itself, and yon know that some- 

 where down there Undine has returned, and if you 

 were not so tired you could find her. The dark- 

 ness falls, the sparks from the campfire go sailing 

 up into a sky that is all velvety black and 



