pines and the power of these winds will bring it
back to me. See me now, and think how I looked when I came here six weeks
ago."

She looked at him with fond agreement. "You _are_ better. When I saw you
first I surely thought you were--"

"I know what you thought--and forget it, _please_! Think of me as one who
has touched mother earth again and is on the way to being made a giant.
You can't imagine how marvelous, how life-giving all this is to me. It is
poetry, it is prophecy, it is fulfilment. I am fully alive again."

McFarlane, upon his return, gave some advice relating to the care of
horses. "All this stock which is accustomed to a barn or a pasture will
quit you," he warned. "Watch your broncos. Put them on the outward side
of your camp when you bed down, and pitch your tent near the trail, then
you will hear the brutes if they start back. Some men tie their stock all
up; but I usually picket my saddle-horse and hobble the rest."

It was a delightful hour for schooling, and Wayland would have been
content to sit there till morning listening; but the air bit, and at last
the Supervisor asked: "Have you made your bed? If you have, turn in. I
shall get you out early to-morrow." As he saw the bed, he added: "I see
you've laid out a bed of boughs. That shows how Eastern you are. We don't
do that out here. It's too cold in this climate, and it's too much work.
You want to hug the ground--if it's dry."

The weary youth went to his couch with a sense of timorous elation, for
he had never before slept beneath the open sky. Over him the giant
fir--tall as a steeple--dropped protecting shadow, and looking up he
could see the firelight flickering on the wide-spread branches. His bed
seemed to promise all the dreams and restful drowse which the books on
outdoor life had described, and close by in her tiny little canvas house
he could hear the girl in low-voiced conversation with her sire. All
conditions seemed right for slumber, and yet slumber refused to come!

After the Supervisor had rolled himself in the blanket, long after all
sounds had ceased in the tent, there still remained for the youth a score
of manifold excitations to wakefulness. Down on the lake the muskrats and
beavers were at their work. Nocturnal birds uttered uncanny, disturbing
cries. Some animal with stealthy crackling tread was ranging the
hillside, and the roar of the little fall, so far from lulling him to
sleep--as he had imagined it would--stimul