That music was always in the air, for the rivers, the creeks, and the tiny streams, gushing down from the snow that lay eternally up near the clouds, were never still.

There were sweet perfumes as well as music in the air.

The earth was bursting with green; the early flowers were turning the sunny slopes into coloured splashes of red and white and purple--splashes of violets and forget-me-nots, of wild asters and hyacinths.

David looked upon it all, and his soul drank in its wonders.

He made his camp, and he remained in it all that day, and the next.