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Camp and Trail - A Story of the Maine Woods by Isabel Hornibrook
page 98 of 263 (37%)
such it could be called. Luckily the campers of both nationalities, from
Cyrus downward, were without any element of snobbery in their
dispositions. It seemed to them only a jolly part of the untrammelled
forest life that man should go back to his primitive relations with his
brother man; that in the woods, as Doc said, "manhood should be the only
passport," and that titles and distinctions should never be thought of
by guides or anybody else. They were well-pleased to be taken simply for
what they were,--jolly, companionable fellows,--and to be valued
according to the amount of grit and good-temper they showed.

And they learned this morning to appreciate the pioneer courage and
resolute spirit of the rugged settlers who had cleared a home for
themselves amid the surrounding wilderness of forest and stream. Their
roughness of speech was as nothing in comparison with their brave
endurance of hardships, their deeds of heroism, and their free-handed
hospitality.

Lin led his visitors straight to a log cabin, before which his father, a
veteran woodsman, who bore the scars of bears' teeth upon his body, was
digging and planting. This old farmer, too, greeted Doc as a friend, and
when the wagon was talked about, was quite willing to do anything to
serve him.

"But ye must have a square meal afore ye travel," he said. "Jerusha! I
couldn't let ye go without eatin'. Mother!" shouting to his wife, who
was inside the cabin. "Say, Mother! Ha'n't ye got somethin' fer these
fellers to munch?"

Forthwith a big, rosy woman, who had herself fought a bear in her time,
and had shot him, too, before he attacked her farmyard, hustled round,
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