FOLLOWING A LOST TRAIL . 
59 
anon climbing to a height to consult the dis¬ 
tance, will know how we made our journey. 
Men go through great battles without a scratch, 
but they could not penetrate a “harricane ” with 
any such fortunate results. 
The spots on our blazed trees seemed as 
friendly as home on a winter’s night, when at 
last we reached them and began the southward 
march. As we had been two hours without 
water, the first brook drew us to its side and 
held us entranced by its tiny cascades. In the 
pool from which I drank, half a dozen caddis- 
worm cases lay upon the sand at the bottom. 
They were sand, yet not of the sand, for mind 
had rescued them from the monotony of their 
matter and made them significant of life. They 
had faithfully guarded their little builders while 
dormant, and now those awakened tenants had 
risen from the water, dried their gauzy wings 
in the sun and vanished in airy wanderings. 
Near the brook lay a dead tree, and upon it were 
fastened a number of brightly colored fungi. 
Their lower surfaces and margins were creamy 
white, then a band of orange vermilion passed 
around them, while the upper and principal part 
was greenish gray marked with dark brown 
wavelike lines. They reminded me, by their 
color and surface, of the tinted clay images or 
costume figures which are made by peasants in 
