Followers of the Trail | Page 2

eyes
looked with never-flagging interest upon the busy world about him.
The Hermit, in spite of his comparative isolation from those of his kind,
was far from leading a life of uselessness. Having been from boyhood
an enthusiastic student of botany, he had located in the big woods many
a leaf, bark and root which, when sent back into the busy world, proved
a blessing to ailing humanity.
He knew where to find the aromatic spice-bush to cool the burning of
fever, and where in the spring grew the tenderest willow twigs whose
bark went into cures for rheumatism. Sassafras yielded its savory roots
for tea and tonics, and the purplish red pokeberry supplied a valuable
blood purifier. So he harvested the woods for others, at the same time
finding for himself health and contentment.
Twice yearly he took his harvest to the nearest shipping center, setting
forth as the first streaks of dawn appeared in the east, and returning
when the serrated wall of the wilderness was etched sharply against the
sunset sky, and the songs of the robin and the hermit thrush gave voice
to the twilight.
Since his arrival at the cabin the Hermit had been much alone, his only
visitors being occasional hunters or trappers who passed his home by
chance, or asked shelter when overtaken by the night. At infrequent
intervals one of his distant neighbors would drop in to chat or to ask aid
in case of illness or accident, for many had found the Hermit a help at
such a time. They were, for the most part, busy farmers wresting a
home from the wilderness, a task which left them little idle time.
One summer evening, as the fiery ball of the sun was sinking out of

sight behind the forest wall, leaving the world bathed in the hush of
twilight, the Hermit heard a scratching upon his doorstep. Looking up
from the fire over which he was cooking his supper, he saw in the open
doorway a small black and white dog, its forefeet upon the sill, its great
brown eyes fixed in mute appeal upon the face of the man. A moment
they looked into each other's eyes; then, without a word, the Hermit
held out his hand.
It was a simple gesture, yet it heralded a change in the lives of both.
Into the eyes of the homeless dog sprang a glad light, followed by such
a look of adoration that the man experienced a warm glow of pleasure.
Out of their loneliness each had found a friend.
From that day the two were never far apart. When the Hermit went into
the forest for his harvesting, Pal, as the wanderer had been named,
accompanied him, his proud protector. While the man worked, Pal
often ranged the near-by woods, his sensitive nose eagerly seeking out
the latest news of the wild; yet he was never out of sound of the
Hermit's call. To the dog, as to the man, the woods were a never-ending
source of interest, and he seldom offered to molest the wild creatures
unless they seemed unfriendly toward his master. Pal would have
attacked the biggest beast of the wilderness unhesitatingly in defense of
the one who had befriended him.
In going about his work the Hermit, as a rule, saw few of the forest
inhabitants, but from tree or thicket bright eyes were sure to be
following his every movement with keen interest. Fear, when once
instilled into the wild creatures, is not easily banished, but little by little
they came to regard this quiet man as a friend.
An instance of their trust was shown one day when, as the Hermit
worked in his herb garden at the rear of the cabin, a rabbit slipped
through the fence. With great bounds the little animal crossed the
garden toward him, its ears lying along its back and its gentle eyes wide
with terror. The Hermit glanced up in surprise; then his face set and he
raised his hoe threateningly. Close behind the fleeing bunny came a
weasel, its savage red eyes seeing nothing but its expected prey. In
another bound the rabbit would have been overtaken and have suffered

a terrible death had not the Hermit stepped between with his uplifted
hoe.
With a snarl the weasel paused, its eyes flaming with hatred. For a
moment it seemed inclined to attack the man. At that point Pal rounded
the corner of the cabin to see the savage little beast confronting his
adored master. The sight aroused all the ferocity in the dog's nature.
The light of battle flared in his usually mild eyes and the hair rose
stiffly along his back. With a sharp bark, he charged. The weasel,
seeing itself outnumbered, turned and sped toward the forest,