But it is something to be sure they are there, even if they refuse to reveal themselves to mortal vision.
This morning is a day radiant with concentrated essence of June and sunshine and brown needles and young ferns and freshly wet earth and pungent woodsy smells and the sheer joy of living. Today it shall be—say the Sidefoot path as far as the Noble trail, then up by that to the ridge, then along the crest to Pulpit Rock; perhaps back by the steep Hedgehog path that tumbles straight down by sharp-edged, broken rock, from under the Pulpit itself. Or perhaps on to the Four Spots and back around by the Green Carpet trail. Oh, anywhere! The Mountain-Lover therefore betakes himself first to the Sidefoot path where it winds obliquely upwards to the left, making its way across a bed of pale-green, almost transparent ferns, avoiding a tree here and getting itself around a rock there; and then lift-
