Cape Smoky 
northern mountains. Nothing could be de- 
vised for a mossy bank loveher than its fairy- 
vines tracing an embroidery of tiny leaves 
over the moss, or hanging in a curtain over 
the edge, and nothing that grows could be 
daintier than its snowy fruit with its peculiar 
and delicate flavour. 
While sitting on the mossy bank beside the 
snowberries, we had the added pleasure of 
being croaked to by ravens. We had expected 
to make their acquaintance, if we were so for- 
tunate as to do so at all, the other side of 
Smoky, for we had heard they nested near 
Ingonish. But surely these great black fel- 
lows were they, though probably we should 
not have discovered it had they kept still. 
The hoarse, rattling cry that revealed their 
identity and surprised and delighted us was 
never the voice of a crow. 
On a firm bridge we crossed the chasm of 
the deep-down brook we had been following, 
and began to ascend a winding road. Occa- 
sional outlooks through the trees afforded en- 
chanting glimpses of far-reaching blue sea, of 
bold bluffs that stood on the edge of the water 
and of intervening valleys. Rocky slopes near 
231 
