"Come with me, McTavish," he said to his woods-boss. They passed
through a narrow gap between two low hills and emerged in a long
narrow valley where the redwood grew thickly and where the smallest
tree was not less than fifteen feet in diameter and two hundred and
fifty feet tall. McTavish followed at the master's heels as they
penetrated this grove, making their way with difficulty through the
underbrush until they came at length to a little amphitheatre, a
clearing perhaps a hundred feet in diameter, oval-shaped and
surrounded by a wall of redwoods of such dimensions that even
McTavish, who was no stranger to these natural marvels, was struck
with wonder. The ground in this little amphitheatre was covered to a
depth of a foot with brown, withered little redwood twigs to which
the dead leaves still clung, while up through this aromatic covering
delicate maidenhair ferns and oxalis had thrust themselves. Between
the huge brown boles of the redwoods woodwardia grew riotously, while
through the great branches of these sentinels of the ages the
sunlight filtered. Against the prevailing twilight of the surrounding
forest it descended like a halo, and where it struck the ground John
Cardigan paused.
"McTavish," he said, "she died this morning."
"I'm sore distressed for you, sir," the woods-boss answered.
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