'It is winter in the forest,' quoth she, 'and the wolves begin to howl.

All your talk of places where the river runs through flowers and the pale faces build great villages is the talk of singing birds! Stay by the fire, Golden-tongue!' and I stayed--in the dream.
"When you see a partridge Scurrying through the grass, Fit an arrow to the bow, For a man will pass! "Heigho!" "I am already," retorted Rand, "at the place where the river runs through flowers and the pale faces have built villages.

Who will say that I did not cross the forest ?--I was years in crossing it! Here is Lynch's." The coffee house on Main Street was the resort of lawyers, politicians, and strangers in town, and towards dusk, when the stage and post-rider were in, a crowded and noisy place.

It was yet early when Rand and Gaudylock entered, and neither the mail-bag, nor many habitues of the place had arrived.

The room was quiet and not over brightly lit by the declining sun and the flare of a great, crackling fire.