We toasted the good
fairy. The candles burned low in their sockets--this, also, is
figurative; they were stuck on pieces of wood. With due formality I was
presented with a birthday gift, a fishing-reel purchased by the Big and
the Middle and the Little Boy.
Of all the birthdays that I can remember--and I remember quite a
few--this one was the most wonderful. Over mountain-tops, glowing deep
pink as they rose above masses of white clouds, came slowly a great
yellow moon. It turned the Flathead beside us to golden glory, and
transformed the evergreen thickets into fairy glades of light and
shadow. Flickering candles inside the tents made them glow in luminous
triangles against their background of forest.
Behind us, in the valley lands at the foot of the Rockies, the horses
rested and grazed, and eased their tired backs. The men lay out in the
open and looked at the stars. The air was fragrant with pine and
balsam. Night creatures called and answered.
And, at last, we went to our tents and slept. For the morning was a new
day, and I had not got all my story.
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