Far up on the mountain-side stood alone in the clearing. It was
roughly yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north
wind, and towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny
expanse of green sloped gently away to a point where the mountain
dropped in another sharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and
pines. At the left a footpath led into the cool depths of the
forest. But at the right the mountain fell away again and disclosed
to view the picture David loved the best of all: the far-reaching
valley; the silver pool of the lake with its ribbon of a river
flung far out; and above it the grays and greens and purples of the
mountains that climbed one upon another's shoulders until the
topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome of the sky itself.
There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There
was only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither,
anywhere, was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks
far down in the valley by the river.
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