of the Wild," as well as the greater bond of
kinship.

One could not begin to tell of the pleasure derived from these rambles
over valley and mountain, not to speak of the health-giving exercise
in the open air. They are far better than doctors' prescriptions, for
they drive the cobwebs from the brain, bring refreshing slumber, a new
light to the eye, elasticity to the step, and keep one young in
spirit, if not in years.

[Illustration: THE LAUGHTER OF THE BROOK]

It was a bright June morning when Hal and I took the ferryboat for
Sausalito, then by train to Mill Valley. It was just cool enough to
make walking a pleasure, and after the clamor of the city the somber
shadows of the forest, with its solitude, seemed like a benediction.
On every side the giant redwoods tower hundreds of feet in air,
straight and imposing, while the ground, on which the pine needles and
crumbling bark have formed a brown mold, is as soft and springy to the
tread as a velvet carpet.

The resinous, aromatic odor of the pines, combined with the fresh
woodsy fragrance, is like a tonic. Just ahead of us we see a growth of
manzanitas, with their smooth purple-brown bark and pinkish white
flowers in crowded clusters, standing out vividly against the
background of oaks and firs, and we sink knee-deep amid the ferns and
blue and yellow lupine. It seems almost sacrilegious to trample these
exquisite violet-hooded flowers beneath our feet.

Close to the trail a little mountain brook sings merrily over its
pebbly bed, dodging in and out among the rocks, or chuckling in glee
as it dashes in mimic fury over some unseen obstacle, as if it were
playing hide and seek with the shadows along the bank. And we stop to
rest and listen with pleasure to the music of its woodland melody. A
song sparrow joins in the chorus with his quaint sweet lullaby, like
the tinkling of Venetian glass, his notes as clear and delicate as a
silver bell. He evidently believes that singing lightens his labors,
for he is industriously gathering material for the new home he is
building close at hand aided by his demure mate, who, in reality, does
most of the work.

[Illustration: BROOK AND WATERFALL]

The trail grows steeper and harder to climb as we ascend. We hear the
sound of falling water ahead of us, and around a bend in the path, and
through an opening in the trees, we come upon a beautiful waterfall
pouring over the rocks like a bridal veil.

We drop our cameras and s