d rubbed with a piece
of tallow or pork rind. The dough is then placed in it, pressed out
against the sides, and left to rise. When ready for baking a shovelful
of coals is spread out by the side of the fire and the oven set upon
them, while another shovelful is placed on top of the lid, which is
raised from time to time to see that the requisite amount of heat is
being kept up. With care good bread may be made in this way, though it
is liable to be burned or to be sour, or raised too much, and the weight
of the oven is a serious objection.

At last Don Delaney comes doon the lang glen--hunger vanishes, we turn
our eyes to the mountains, and to-morrow we go climbing toward
cloudland.

Never while anything is left of me shall this first camp be forgotten.
It has fairly grown into me, not merely as memory pictures, but as part
and parcel of mind and body alike. The deep hopper-like hollow, with its
majestic trees through which all the wonderful nights the stars poured
their beauty. The flowery wildness of the high steep slope toward
Brown's Flat, and its bloom-fragrance descending at the close of the
still days. The embowered river-reaches with their multitude of voices
making melody, the stately flow and rush and glad exulting onsweeping
currents caressing the dipping sedge-leaves and bushes and mossy stones,
swirling in pools, dividing against little flowery islands, breaking
gray and white here and there, ever rejoicing, yet with deep solemn
undertones recalling the ocean--the brave little bird ever beside them,
singing with sweet human tones among the waltzing foam-bells, and like a
blessed evangel explaining God's love. And the Pilot Peak Ridge, its
long withdrawing slopes gracefully modeled and braided, reaching from
climate to climate, feathered with trees that are the kings of their
race, their ranks nobly marshaled to view, spire above spire, crown
above crown, waving their long, leafy arms, tossing their cones like
ringing bells--blessed sun-fed mountaineers rejoicing in their strength,
every tree tuneful, a harp for the winds and the sun. The hazel and
buckthorn pastures of the deer, the sun-beaten brows purple and yellow
with mint and golden-rods, carpeted with chamaebatia, humming with bees.
And the dawns and sunrises and sundowns of these mountain days,--the
rose light creeping higher among the stars, changing to daffodil yellow,
the level beams bursting forth, streaming across the ridges, touching
pine af