This was
some weeks after the log drives, and lumbering was over for the
season. Uncle Henry and the boys, rather than be idle, were
working every acre they owned, and Nan was more alone than she
had ever been since coming to Pine Camp.
She had learned the way to Toby's place, the main trail through
the swamp going right by the hummock on which the old man's farm
was situated. She knew there was a corduroy road most of the way
that is, a road built of logs laid side by side directly over
the miry ground. Save in very wet weather this road was passable
for most vehicles.
The distance was but three miles, however, and Nan liked walking.
Besides, nobody who has not seen a tamarack swamp in late spring
or early summer, can ever imagine how beautiful it is. Nan never
missed human companionship when she was on the long walks she so
often took in the woods.
She had learned now that, despite her adventure with the lynx in
the snow-drifted hollow, there was scarcely any animal to fear
about Pine Camp. Bears had not been seen for years; bobcats were
very infrequently met with and usually ran like scared rabbits;
foxes were of course shy, and the nearest approach to a wolf in
all that section was Toby Vanderwiller's wolfhound that had once
frightened Nan so greatly.
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