ing itself up a steeper bit to the point where the Noble trail diverges; the latter clambers uncompromisingly straight up the wooded cliffs, mounting abrupt masses of rock that are like long stone staircases; on and up threads the tiny path through the low-growing spruces, emerging now and then on outcropping ledges which constitute one of the many charms of wandering around on Monadnock, giving repeated delicious vistas of the out-lying world. One is never long shut away from inspiring open stretches, even in deep woods. If not a ledge, then some huge rock-sentinel heaves high its great head . . . Up and still up scrambles the ambitious little trail—the Noble trail—,only occupied in getting itself up to the heights as directly as possible . . . One never treads it without a tender thought of its gallant-souled maker. The world seemed colder when he left it. Does not the great Mountain-Spirit itself miss his presence and his love?
The path finally with a last aspiring jump
