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The Heart of Monadnock

morning the brooks will be in their glory, and today therefore, the way must be to the west. Beyond the old barn and under arcading trees threads a tiny path leading to all the trails on Monte Rosa, and this the saunterer takes till he comes to the path that skirts the spur and leads him to Monte Rosa brook. Long before he comes in sight of it he hears its miniature thunder and he plunges down the last sharp little descent as eagerly as if he had never seen tremendous mountain cataracts on mighty ranges. The beloved little brook is tearing along joyously, full from bank to bank; the mossy stepping-stones are submerged and their tops show green and shining below the water. Down the bank the loving explorer takes his slow way stopping every few moments to delight over some slight turn of the baby-cataract as it flings itself petulantly down some great descent of some ten feet or so in mimic fury, then as if laughing softly to itself like a mischievous child it extends its arms gaily to mossy banks on