He rode in front, feasting his eyes on all the wonders in that storehouse of beauty.

Trees of many kinds deepened the shadows of the canyon.

Over us waved the big elms that grew up here and there out of the bottom, and around their feet clustered low cedars and hemlocks and balsams, while the sturdy, rugged oaks and delicate, trembling poplars clung to the rocky sides and clambered up and out to the canyon's sunny lips.

Back of all, the great black rocks, decked with mossy bits and clinging things, glistened cool and moist between the parting trees.

From many an oozy nook the dainty clematis and columbine shook out their bells, and, lower down, from beds of many-colored moss the late wind-flower and maiden-hair and tiny violet lifted up brave, sweet faces.