far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake with its ribbon
of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and greens and
purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's
shoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome
of the sky itself.

There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There
was only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither,
anywhere, was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks
far down in the valley by the river.

Within the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main
room. It was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but
from the tiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter
of bacon sizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were
simple, yet, in a way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a
few rude but comfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two
violins with their cases, and everywhere books, and scattered
sheets of music. Nowhere was there cushion, curtain, or
knickknack that told of a woman's taste or touch. On the other
hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or antlered head that
spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration there were a
beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs signed
with names well known out in the great world beyond the
mountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might
gather and hang.

From the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering
suddenly ceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful
eyes.