it is shining. But the others only get the
sun now and then, and they are more noisy
and cruel. One of them is always in the
shadow, and the water looks black. That
is partly because the rocks all underneath
it are black. It falls down twenty great
ledges in a gorge with black sides, and a
white mist dances all over it at every leap.
I tell father the mist is the ghost of the
waters. No man ever goes there; it is too
cold. The chill strikes through one, and
makes your heart feel as if you were dying.
But all down the side of the mountain,
toward the south and the west, the sun shines
on the granite and draws long points of
light out of it. Father tells me soldiers
marching look that way when the sun strikes
on their bayonets. Those are the kind of
mountains I mean, Mr. Grant."

She was looking at me with her face trans-
figured, as if it, like the mountains she told
me of, had been lying in shadow, and wait-
ing for the dazzling dawn.

"I had a terrible dream once," she went
on; "the most terrible dream ever I had.
I dreamt that the mountains had all been
taken down, and that I stood on a plain to
which there was no end. The sky was burn-