VII

A BED OF BOUGHS

When Aaron came again to camp and tramp with me, or, as he wrote, "to
eat locusts and wild honey with me in the wilderness," It was past the
middle of August, and the festival of the season neared its close. We
were belated guests, but perhaps all the more eager on that account,
especially as the country was suffering from a terrible drought, and
the only promise of anything fresh or tonic or cool was in primitive
woods and mountain passes.

"Now, my friend," said I, "we can go to Canada, or to the Maine woods,
or to the Adirondacks, and thus have a whole loaf and a big loaf of
this bread which you know as well as I will have heavy streaks in it,
and will not be uniformly sweet; or we can seek nearer woods, and
content ourselves with one week instead of four, with the prospect of a
keen relish to the last. Four sylvan weeks sound well, but the poetry
is mainly confined to the first one. We can take another slice or two
of the Catskills, can we not, without being sated with kills and
dividing ridges?"

"Anywhere," replied Aaron, "so that we have a good tramp and plenty of
primitive woods. No doubt we should find good browsing on Peakamoose,
and trout enough in the streams at its base."

So without further ado we made ready, and in due time found ourselves,