Brier
Pond, lately covered with clear ice, lay under a blanket of snow.
He hurried across the pond, his dog following. Near the far shore
was a bare spot on the ice cut by one of the sleigh-runners. Up in
the woods, opposite, was the Moss Trail. Sunlight fell on the
hills above him. He halted, looking up at the tree-tops. Twig,
branch, and trunk glowed with the fire of diamonds through a lacy
necking of hoar frost. Every tree had put on a jacket of ice and
become as a fountain of prismatic hues. Here and there a dead pine
rose like a spire of crystal; domes of deep-coloured glass and
towers of jasper were as the landmarks of a city. Allen climbed
the shore, walking slowly. He could see no track of sleigh or dog
or any living thing. A frosted, icy tangle of branches arched the
trail--a gateway of this great, crystal city of the woods. He
entered, listening as he walked. Branches of hazel and dogwood
were like jets of water breaking into clear, halted drops and foamy
spray above him. He went on, looking up at this long sky-window of
the woods. In the deep silence he could hear his heart beating.
"Sport," .said he to the dog, "show me the way;" but the dog only
wagged his tail.
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