the hemlocks and the spruce. In the dark¬ 
ness it had a softened and hidden quality, 
as though muffled and fettered, and then 
again the sliding waters swept to my ears 
with all the clear, keen-cut cadence of 
noon-day. There was magic in the sound, 
sheer laughter and low talking in its 
( melody. 
CITTING on a log I lit a social pipe. 
partly as solace for the brisk walk, 
as an antidote for a few exploring black 
dies, and finally for the silence and soli¬ 
tude. Man does not realize the deep bene¬ 
fits of pipe and tobacco until he rests in 
the wilderness. Whip-poor-will called in¬ 
cessantly downstream, the first small birds 
of the new day. Swallows traded up and 
down the brook between the line of trees 
with artless twitter and fine snap of wings. 
Gradually, imperceptibly, the night be¬ 
gan to withdraw her curtain, and dark 
masses of tree trunks emerged in 
the dusks. Plumy boughs drooped 
and swayed low like ghostly fingers 
reaching and yearning. Spruce, 
lemlock, fir, and pine stalked silently 
down the awakening forest. Stream- 
ward, wraiths of mist like pale 
smoke eddied and twined, fanned by 
winds, stirred by rushing waters, 
dipped into dim shapes and vanished 
among the overhanging boughs. The 
time and place reeked with odors 
wept in abandonment—tang of 
evergreens, breaths freighted with 
vet grasses and dripping ferns, the 
aint perfumes of flowers opening in 
he dews of morning, hut stronger, 
nore pervading, the pungent bal- 
am-scent which seemed to ride the 
noisture-burdened breeze. 
The eastern sky brightened, glowed 
vith a pinkish wash of thin color 
vhich lighted the forest and ban- 
shed the dusks to the recesses of 
1 H. v 
the deeper forest. Loon and Russell sat 
low on the eastern horizon, their alpifie 
forest on the ridge etched sharply against 
the first lights. Northward, the high peaks 
were shrouded in clouds far down and 
heavy. Pale wisps of vapour clung in 
streamers and curls among the trees on 
the slopes, but beyond the gentle rounding- 
heads of Loon and Russell the clouds lifted 
and vanished, and the east was soon ablaze 
with bars of multi-colored lights. Rivers 
of pallid red flowed into rivers of flaming 
crimson, of thin blues, of indescribable 
golds, and as the sky-flood widened and 
became more intense in depth and-change 
of regal splendor it crept down the slopes 
of fir and spruce, revealed the valleys and 
gulches, and transformed the wilderness 
and the far village to the clean lights of 
day. 
Long before the primal break of day, 
birds called to one another in scattered 
notes and broken bars of song. In the 
darkness and during the lifting and flee¬ 
ing of dusks, the hidden notes had a 
haunting quality of sweetness far more- 
pleasant to the ear than when heard in 
the daylight, but this yvas due to the 
witchery of night. Unusually vociferous 
and plentiful, the whip-poor-wills ceased 
abruptly at the dawnlight in one wild, 
final outburst. Somewhere down the 
brook where a little grassy clearing over¬ 
looked the waters, a song sparrow sang 
a sprightly aria which had the very 
gurgle of the brook in its melody. 
Yellowthroats and towhee and brown 
thrashers called repeatedly, but when the 
east turned red, the brown thrasher 
broke into intricate song of couplets and 
triplets, of passion subdued rather than 
rampant and care free, and it seemed as 
though the forest ached and trembled 
with the spirit-music of the bird: Other 
birds slowly awoke, uttering drowsy calls 
and half-sleepy chirps. Grosbeaks, 
thrushes, warblers, crows, jays, buntings, 
chickadees, vireos, pewees—all voiced 
(Continued on page 254) 
*gc 231 
Rippling—tumbling—singing ... the brook 
