what a miserable, half-way thing is man, who should be a demigod, and
is--a creature for the very trees to pity!' And then he built his
camp-fire, called in his dogs, and slept the sleep of youth and
health, none the less deep because of that Spirit of Discontent that
had driven him forth, into the wilderness; probably the Spirit of
Discontent knew what it was about. Thus for days, for weeks, our white
man wandered through the forest and wandered at random, for, being an
exception, he preferred to go nowhere; he had his compass, but never
used it, and, a practised hunter, eat what came in his way and planned
not for the morrow. 'Now am I living the life of a good, hearty,
comfortable bear,' he said to himself with satisfaction.

'No, you are not, Waring,' replied the Spirit of Discontent, 'for you
know you have your compass in your pocket and can direct yourself back
to the camps on Lake Superior or to the Sault for supplies, which is
more than the most accomplished bear can do.'

'O come, what do you know about bears?' answered Waring; 'very likely
they too have their depots of supplies,--in caves perhaps--'

'No caves here.'

'In hollow trees, then.'

'You are thinking of the stories about bears and wild honey,' said the
pertinacious Spirit.

'Shut up, I am going to sleep,' replied the man, rolling himself in
his blanket; and then the Spirit, having accomplished his object,
smiled blandly and withdrew.