“Beneath a hemlock grim and dark, Where shrub and vine are intertwining, Our shanty stands, well roofed with bark, On which the cheerful blaze is shining. The smoke ascends in spiral wreath; With upward curve the sparks are trending; The coffee kettle sings beneath Where sparks and smoke with leaves are blending.” Joe Wayring’s voice rang out loud and clear, and the words of his song were repeated by the echoes from a dozen different points among the hills by which the camp was surrounded on every side. Joe was putting the finishing touches to the roof of a bark shanty; Roy Sheldon, with the aid of a double-bladed camp ax, was cutting a supply of hard wood to cook the trout he had just clea…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.