others come to the same spot in the lost trail—and find the way through? With keener eyes—or with more faith—accepting the unlikely indication? Had Robert Louis meant something like this when he prayed that fervent prayer which seemed to well up from the depths of life, "Oh, Lord! Give me to see my opportunities!" That is, to see the not always obvious cairns on the track of life, none too plainly marked at the best.
The Mountain-Lover began to think more and more concretely. He soon came to the Sweet Water Spring and knelt to drink of the tiny icy pool, protected by the loving care of other mountain-lovers. He went on his way to the left, still slowly winding around Monte Rosa, following the dim little path as it twisted around the out-jutting cliffs and through the woods till the maples and birches gave way as ever to the stunted and gnarled little spruces, leading with the usual suddenness out on the broad open rocks to the west. Onward swept beckon-
