Summer was gone and autumn was coming, a great rain poured and the wind
blew cold. Dead leaves fell in showers from the trees, and the boughs
swaying before the gale creaked dismally against each other. But it all
gave to Henry a supreme sense of physical comfort. He lay in his snug
hut, and, pulling a little to one side the heavy buffalo robe that hung
over the doorway, watched the storm rage through the wilderness. He had
no sense of loneliness, his mind was in perfect tune with everything
about him, and delighted in the triumphant manifestation of nature.
He stayed there all day, content to lie still and meditate vaguely of
anything that came of its own accord into his mind. About the twilight
hour he cooked some venison, ate it and then slept a dreamless sleep
through the night.
The rain ceased the next day but the air became crisp and cold, and
autumn was fully come. In a week the forest was dyed into the most
glowing colors, red and yellow and brown, and the shades between. The
heavens were pure blue and gold, and it was a poignant delight to
breathe the keen air. Again he ranged far and rejoiced in the hunting.
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