Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Maide was lost, there could be no doubt about that: ever since luncheon she had wandered about and the more she tried to find her way, the denser grew the woods with never a sign of the clearing where her father’s camp stood. Thinking of it afterwards, she saw plainly enough that the forest was bewithed that day for, though she used all the woodland lore taught her by the guide who was in charge at the camp, how can one find the northern side of the trees when the moss grows with equal luxuriance on all sides? How can one follow the watercourse and so find the river, when each perverse brook persist flowing in an entirely different direction from any other? And, worst of all, whole heavens become covered with clouds so grey and lowering that it looks more like a November than an August day?<br><br>Maide had been indulging in a fit of the sulks.
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