they dissatisfied, she had to conclude that it was in herself. To see, to
watch, to dream, to seek, to strive, to endure, to find! Was that what they
meant? They might make her thoughtful of the vast earth, and its endless
age, and its staggering mystery. But what more!

The storm that had threatened blackened the sky, and gray scudding clouds
buried the canyon rims, and long veils of rain and sleet began to descend.
The wind roared through the pines, drowning the roar of the brook. Quite
suddenly the air grew piercingly cold. Carley had forgotten her gloves, and
her pockets had not been constructed to protect hands. Glenn drew her into
a sheltered nook where a rock jutted out from overhead and a thicket of
young pines helped break the onslaught of the wind. There Carley sat on a
cold rock, huddled up close to Glenn, and wearing to a state she knew would
be misery. Glenn not only seemed content; he was happy. "This is great," he
said. His coat was open, his hands uncovered, and he watched the storm and
listened with manifest delight. Carley hated to betray what a weakling she
was, so she resigned herself to her fate, and imagined she felt her fingers
numbing into ice, and her sensitive nose slowly and painfully freezing.

The storm passed, however, before Carley sank into abject and open
wretchedness. She managed to keep pace with Glenn until exercise warmed her
blood. At every little ascent in the trail she found herself laboring to
get her breath. There was assuredly evidence of abundance of air in this
canyon, but somehow she could not get enough of it. Glenn detected this and
said it was owing to the altitude. When they reached the cabin Carley was
wet, stiff, cold, exhausted. How welcome the shelter, the open fireplace!
Seeing the cabin in new light, Carley had the grace to acknowledge to
herself that, after all, it was not so bad.

"Now for a good fire and then dinner," announced Glenn, with the air of one