The stream of time flows swift and smooth, by such a fire as this.
The moments slip past unheeded; the sun sinks down his western arch;
the shadows begin to fall across the brook; it is time to move on
for the afternoon fishing. The fire has almost burned out. But do
not trust it too much. Throw some sand over it, or bring a hatful
of water from the brook to pour on it, until you are sure that the
last glowing ember is extinguished, and nothing but the black coals
and the charred ends of the sticks are left.
Even the little friendship-fire must keep the law of the bush. All
lights out when their purpose is fulfilled!
VI
ALTARS OF REMEMBRANCE
It is a question that we have often debated, in the informal
meetings of our Petrine Club: Which is pleasanter,--to fish an old
stream, or a new one?
The younger members are all for the "fresh woods and pastures new."
They speak of the delight of turning off from the high-road into
some faintly-marked trail; following it blindly through the forest,
not knowing how far you have to go; hearing the voice of waters
sounding through the woodland; leaving the path impatiently and
striking straight across the underbrush; scrambling down a steep
bank, pushing through a thicket of alders, and coming out suddenly,
face to face with a beautiful, strange brook.
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