
etn ve mo 
trunks with great swiftness. The sud- 
denness of it made my heart jump, I 
looked at Peter and he placidly returned 
my gaze. I laughed aloud, and the 
sound of my own voice startled me. 
Afterwards I often spoke or laughed as 
a relief to the silence of the woods. But 
of this I will speak later. 
A short journey now brought me to 
the edge of a tree-covered bank lead- 
ing down to the shore. I had reached 
the place where I was to spend many 
solitary hours—hours that were little 
freighted, however, with the loneliness 
such as I have felt in this big city of 
New York. 
Within a hundred feet of the bank 
that sloped to the shore was a small 
glade partly grassed, and here I re- 
solved to pitch my tent. 
I had not mich time to waste, for 
I had not only to fix up my tent and get 
my things under cover, but I had to 
find some sort of a shelter for Peter. 
The sky was evidently clouding up for 
rain. I took off my pony’s bridle and 
let him feed on the grass while I cut 
tent-poles and stakes. 
FTER the white canvas had been put 
up and pegged taut, I felt a won- 
derful sense of satisfaction, I walked 
in and out of that tent for. the sheer 
pleasure of it, and on my face was a 
pleased grin. Once or twice I broke 
into a laugh. I was drunken with the 
freedom of the woods. I left the tent, 
then, and made my way down the bank 
to the wide and sandy shore. There 
I spread out my arms and filled my 
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lungs with the pure air blowing in from 
across the Straits of Georgia—and from 
the snowy peaks of the distant Rockies. 
Out on the water a huge bird rose and 
flapped its wings; then, strange, weird, 
came the quivering call of the loon. I 
cupped my hands and called back to it; 
then I started back up the bank. 
S I climbed the bank, but not the 
same way I had descended, I no- 
ticed a small stream of water running 
from beneath a big rock. I scooped out 
a small hollow and allowed the water 
to fill it. Then I drank, and the water 
was sweet and cold. The very recollec- 
tion of it makes me thirsty. 
I leave off my dreams for a moment 
and go to the lavatory to get some 
water. I look into the cracked, semi- 
clean lavatory basin and think of that 
sweet water bubbling from beneath the 
rock. Then I close my mind to com- 
parisons, momentarily; turn on the fau- 
cet and drink from my cracked tum- 
bler. Pah! Why does one live in a 
city? 
*k * * * 
Let me see—where was I? Oh, yes, 
on the side of the bank, by my little 
spring. I must tell you later how I 
improved that spring. It became one 
of my favorite resting-places. 
After I had once more gained the 
top of the bank, I put up a shelter for 
Peter. I built it of poles and ever- 
green boughs. It was only roughly con- 
structed, but it was a shelter of a kind. 
The roof I made of cedar branches, 
OI 08 OL A Ra EO. AED, BREE BLS IU LER ARI RENE EASA ALAA AL ALLL ARRAS. ARS ADEE ANB TE 


thickly placed. Then I prepared my 
first meal, lighting my campfire close 
to the tent entrance so that the light 
illuminated the interior. Never did 
fried bacon and eggs and home-made 
bread taste sweeter than then, when I 
partook of my first meal alone in the 
forest! 
As night slowly settled down over the 
forest, a keen yet pleasurable feeling 
of loneliness stole over me. My supper 
finished, I lit my pipe, threw a dry stick 
or two on the fire, and by the light of 
its blaze walked over to take a look at 
Peter, comfortably munching his oats 
beneath the rough shelter I had con- 
structed. He seemed perfectly con- 
tented, and gave a low whinny of satis- 
faction as I approached him. His hal- 
ter-rope I had secured with a huge, 
bent nail driven into the trunk of a 
giant fir tree. (I had had to chip off 
bark four inches thick from this tree 
before I could find solid wood into which 
to drive the nail.) Peter’s shelter was 
not more than forty feet from the tent, 
and ona line with it. 
I stroked the old boy’s velvety nose 
and patted his neck. 
“G00v- -NIGHT, Peter old boy: don’t 
get feecomat To-morrow we 
start cutting a trail to the main road 
so we can get down lumber to build a 
cabin.” 
I'll mention right here that I looked 
forward toward the building of my 
cabin with as much zest and eager anti- 
cipation as any old-time pioneer. <A 
phrenologist once told me that the 
