and tremendous girth; while, pendant
from one gnarled out-reaching branch, and almost touching the
mirror-like surface into which it looked, hung a solitary streamer of
Spanish moss.

One might have fancied that this pure water slept in the tranquillity of
being forever blessed by a gaunt old friar, the gray sleeve of whose
cowl hung from an arm perpetually outstretched in silent benediction.
Around the bank, and leaning their purple flowers above the more purple
depths, grew a fringe of wild iris; while sprinkled at random farther
out were a few blooms of "bonnet"--the yellow water-lily of southern
ponds. And then, in a darker nook, erect and motionless upon one leg, a
pink flamingo stood. I caught my breath in amazement at the beauty of
this place!

To me it possessed a soul; and the soul, arms, that were amorously held
out, inviting, pleading. This was the spot, and not by the green waves,
to strip my mind of culture, to tear a club from nature's forest and do
battle for existence! Here, in the very birthplace of silence where I
could smell the loam of untouched wilderness, would be the haunt of my
re-created, or pre-created, self. Throughout the days I would hunt--and
slay; in the nights I would sleep among the branches. But there would
come dawns and sunsets when in some corner of this wild temple I would
raise a pagan altar, light a tiny wish-wood flame, and conjure the
forest's soul of many arms to reach across the earth, bringing me a
living, breathing Psyche with iris-colored eyes to gaze into the limpid
pool!

In the contemplation of such an Eden I had forgotten Smilax, who now
shattered my illusion by swinging down the pack and saying, as he turned
to me:

"We eat."

O, mundane worm, that he could think of food while my spirit was
communing with our common ancestor! However, without much reluctance, I
arrived at his point of view when, filling my pipe, I stretched out to
watch his savory preparations. And now to my surprise, but increasing
admiration for his woodcraft, he raised a hand as I was about to strike
the match.

"Wait," he said. "Wind wrong; maybe some one smell; me go see."

"Never mind," I protested, wanting to spare him additional work after
the amount he had already accomplished. "I don't care about smoking."

"Cook fire smell," he said, rather pityingly that I should have
overlooked this obvious fact. "Me go see; get good wood." Then, grinning
broadly, he added: "Maybe Efaw Kotee som