' the gowd o' Cassiar."

From the first, it was a hard climb. Fallen timber at the mountain's
foot covered with thick brush swallowed us up and plucked us back.
Beyond, on the steeper slopes, grew dwarf evergreens, five or six feet
high--the same fir that towers a hundred feet with a diameter of three
or four on the river banks, but here stunted by icy mountain winds. The
curious blasting of the branches on the side next to the mountain gave
them the appearance of long-armed, humpbacked, hairy gnomes, bristling
with anger, stretching forbidding arms downwards to bar our passage to
their sacred heights. Sometimes an inviting vista through the branches
would lure us in, when it would narrow, and at its upper angle we would
find a solid phalanx of these grumpy dwarfs. Then we had to attack
boldly, scrambling over the obstinate, elastic arms and against the
clusters of stiff needles, till we gained the upper side and found
another green slope.

Muir led, of course, picking with sure instinct the easiest way. Three
hours of steady work brought us suddenly beyond the timber-line, and the
real joy of the day began. Nowhere else have I see anything approaching
the luxuriance and variety of delicate blossoms shown by these high,
mountain pastures of the North. "You scarce could see the grass for
flowers." Everything that was marvelous in form, fair in color, or sweet
in fragrance seemed to be represented there, from daisies and campanulas
to Muir's favorite, the cassiope, with its exquisite little pink-white
bells shaped like lilies-of-the-valley and its subtle perfume. Muir at
once went wild when we reached this fairyland. From cluster to cluster
of flowers he ran, falling on his knees, babbling in unknown tongues,
prattling a curious mixture of scientific lingo and baby talk,
worshiping his little blue-and-pink goddesses.

"Ah! my blue-eyed darlin', little did I think to see you here. How did
you stray away from Shasta?"

"Well, well! Who'd 'a' thought that you'd have left that niche in the
Merced mountains to come here!"

"And who might you be, now, with your wonder look? Is it possible that
you can be (two Latin polysyllables)? You're lost, my dear; you belong
in Tennessee."

"Ah! I thought I'd find you, my homely little sweetheart," and so on
unceasingly.

So absorbed was he in this amatory botany that he seemed to forget my
existence. While I, as glad as he, tagged along, running up and down
with him, asking now a