prominent peaks of the Franconia range, is a delightful ride. We are now
in the midst of the mountain region, the White Mountain plateau. Here
nature, _en dishabille_, with locks unkempt and loosened zone,
reclines at Ease in her most secret chamber, beyond the reach of
intrusion, and neither thinking of, nor caring for, the critical
philosophy of the outside world; an emerald-crowned Cleopatra, revelling
in the midst of her great vassals.

[Illustration: SQUAM LAKE AND MOUNT CHOCORUA.]

The Twin Mountain House, like Fabyan's and the Crawford House, is a
post-office. It is a hostelry, also, that is not surpassed in its
management, cuisine or in magnificence by any in the chain.

"It is good to be here," said Molly, lying back in her chair on the long
piazza, "while the wind blows fair, as in Indian myth blew the breeze
from the Land of Souls."

"Do you remember the other time we were here, Molly?" asked Fritz, "and
the beautiful moonlight evenings we enjoyed?"

"Oh, yes. How many nights we sat here or promenaded among the trees. It
was in September and the moon was full. As she arose over the eastern
hills and threw her light upon the valley beneath, I never saw her more
majestic. The soft, mellow radiance of the queen of night filled every
nook and crevice with light. The trees waved their branches, and
beckoned the woodland nymphs forth to a dance on the green. Surely, it
seems as if Shakespeare must have had just such evenings in his mind
when he wrote 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'"