song? No, the old, old song, but Yan heard it with new ears. He was
learning to read its message. He wandered on their trailless track, as
often as he could, northward, ever northward, up the river from the
town, and up, seeking the loneliest ways and days. The river turned to
the east, but a small stream ran into it from the north: up that Yan
went through thickening woods and walls that neared each other, on and
up until the walls closed to a crack, then widened out into a little
dale that was still full of original forest trees. Hemlock, Pine,
Birch and Elm of the largest size abounded and spread over the clear
brook a continuous shade. Fox vines trailed in the open places, the
rarest wild-flowers flourished, Red-squirrels chattered from the
trees. In the mud along the brook-side were tracks of Coon and Mink
and other strange fourfoots. And in the trees overhead, the Veery, the
Hermit-thrush, or even a Woodthrush sang his sweetly solemn strain, in
that golden twilight of the midday forest. Yan did not know them all
by name as yet, but he felt their vague charm and mystery. It seemed
such a far and lonely place, so unspoiled by man, that Yan persuaded
himself that surely he was the first human being to stand there, that
it was his by right of discovery, and so he claimed it and named it
after its discoverer--Glenyan.

This place became the central thought in his life. He went there at
all opportunities, but never dared to tell any one of his discovery.
He longed for a confidant sometimes, he hankered to meet the stranger
and take him there, and still he feared that the secret would get out.
This was his little kingdom; the Wild Geese had brought him here, as
the Seagulls had brought Columbus to a new world--where he could lead,
for brief spells, the woodland life that was his ideal. He was tender
enough to weep over the downfall of a lot of fine Elm trees in town,
when their field was sold for building purposes, and he used to suffer