derful forest without birds did not seem real to her. Of all living
creatures in nature Helen liked birds best, and she knew many and could
imitate the songs of a few. But here under the stately pines there were
no birds. Squirrels, however, began to be seen here and there, and in
the course of an hour's travel became abundant. The only one with which
she was familiar was the chipmunk. All the others, from the slim bright
blacks to the striped russets and the white-tailed grays, were totally
new to her. They appeared tame and curious. The reds barked and scolded
at the passing cavalcade; the blacks glided to some safe branch, there
to watch; the grays paid no especial heed to this invasion of their
domain.

Once Dale, halting his horse, pointed with long arm, and Helen,
following the direction, descried several gray deer standing in a glade,
motionless, with long ears up. They made a wild and beautiful picture.
Suddenly they bounded away with remarkable springy strides.

The forest on the whole held to the level, open character, but there
were swales and stream-beds breaking up its regular conformity. Toward
noon, however, it gradually changed, a fact that Helen believed she
might have observed sooner had she been more keen. The general lay of
the land began to ascend, and the trees to grow denser.

She made another discovery. Ever since she had entered the forest she
had become aware of a fullness in her head and a something affecting
her nostrils. She imagined, with regret, that she had taken cold. But
presently her head cleared somewhat and she realized that the thick pine
odor of the forest had clogged her nostrils as if with a sweet pitch.
The smell was overpowering and disagreeable because of its strength.
Also her throat and lungs seemed to burn.

When she began to lose interest in the forest and her surroundings
it was because of aches and pains which would no longer be denied
recognition. Thereafter she was not permitted to forget them and they
grew worse. One, especially, was a pain beyond all her experience.
It lay in the muscles of her side, above her hip, and it grew to be a
treacherous thing, for it was not persistent. It came and went. After it
did come, with a terrible flash, it could be borne by shifting or easing
the body. But it gave no warning. When she expected it she was mistaken;
when she dared to breathe again, then, with piercing swiftness,
it returned like a blade in her side. This, then, wa