gray grew luminous. Katahdin’s mighty presence seemed to absorb such dreamy glimmers as float in limpid night-airs: a faint glory, a twilight of its own, clothed it. King of the daylit-world, it became queen of the dimmer realms of night, and like a woman-queen it did not disdain to stoop and study its loveliness in the polished lake, and stooping thus it overhung the earth, a shadowy creature of gleam and gloom, an eternized cloud.
I sat staring and straying in sweet reverie, until the scene before me was dim as metaphysics. Suddenly a flame flashed up in the void. It grew and steadied, and dark objects became visible about it. In the loneliness — for Iglesias had disappeared — I allowed myself a moment’s luxury of superstition. Were these the Cyclops of Katahdin? Possibly. Were they Trolls forging diabolic enginery, or Gypsies of Yankeedom? I will see, — and went tumbling down the hill-side.
As I entered the circle about the cooking-fire of drift-wood by the lake, Iglesias said, —
“The beef-steak and the mutton-chops will do for breakfast; now, then, with your bear!”
“Haw, haw!” guffawed Cancut; and the sound, taking the lake at a stride, found echoes everywhere, till he grew silent and peered suspiciously into the dark.
“There’s more bears raound ’n yer kin shake a stick at,” said one of the muskrateers. “I wouldn’t ricommend yer to stir ’em up naow, haowlin’ like that.”
