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The Heart of Monadnock

It was a delicious spot; a wilderness of entrancing bits lay below him, open vistas through the stately trees. A minute and saucy brook danced near him. The general slope descended by roughly-dropping, brown-needled shelves, all sun-freckled and spicy-smelling. At last the Mountain-Lover threw himself on the ground with his face half towards the heights, for, just visible through the sweep of thinning growth above, was to be seen a veiled glimpse of the west side of Monadnock gleaming pinkly through the green screen. He was warm with his climb and with his search, for the place was entirely sheltered from any breeze. For a time he lay there relaxed against a tree, with its springing roots like an arm chair, reflecting with lazy satisfaction that every spot into which one casually dropped seemed to fit itself as if with premeditated design to the comfort of the tired human frame. His cushion of dry needles seemed peculiarly elastic; the trunk was just the right slope. Juncoes called through the