kinship.

One could not begin to tell of the pleasure derived from these rambles
over valley and mountain, not to speak of the health-giving exercise
in the open air. They are far better than doctors' prescriptions, for
they drive the cobwebs from the brain, bring refreshing slumber, a new
light to the eye, elasticity to the step, and keep one young in
spirit, if not in years.

[Illustration: THE LAUGHTER OF THE BROOK]

It was a bright June morning when Hal and I took the ferryboat for
Sausalito, then by train to Mill Valley. It was just cool enough to
make walking a pleasure, and after the clamor of the city the somber
shadows of the forest, with its solitude, seemed like a benediction.
On every side the giant redwoods tower hundreds of feet in air,
straight and imposing, while the ground, on which the pine needles and
crumbling bark have formed a brown mold, is as soft and springy to the
tread as a velvet carpet.

The resinous, aromatic odor of the pines, combined with the fresh
woodsy fragrance, is like a tonic. Just ahead of us we see a growth of
manzanitas, with their smooth purple-brown bark and pinkish white
flowers in crowded clusters, standing out vividly against the
background of oaks and firs, and we sink knee-deep amid the ferns and
blue and yellow lupine. It seems almost sacrilegious to trample these
exquisite violet-hooded flowers beneath our feet.

Close to the trail a little mountain brook sings merrily over its
pebbly bed, dodging in and out among the rocks, or chuckling in glee