valley of the Saco) They dwelt in a cold spot and a dangerous one; for
a mountain towered above their heads, so steep, that the stones would
often rumble down its sides and startle them at midnight.

The daughter had just uttered some simple jest that filled them all with
mirth, when the wind came through the Notch and seemed to pause
before their cottage--rattling the door, with a sound of wailing and
lamentation, before it passed into the valley. For a moment it saddened
them, though there was nothing unusual in the tones. But the family
were glad again when they perceived that the latch was lifted by some
traveller, whose footsteps had been unheard amid the dreary blast which
heralded his approach, and wailed as he was entering, and went moaning
away from the door.

Though they dwelt in such a solitude, these people held daily converse
with the world. The romantic pass of the Notch is a great artery,
through which the life-blood of internal commerce is continually
throbbing between Maine, on one side, and the Green Mountains and the
shores of the St. Lawrence, on the other. The stage-coach always drew up
before the door of the cottage. The wayfarer, with no companion but
his staff, paused here to exchange a word, that the sense of loneliness
might not utterly overcome him ere he could pass through the cleft
of the mountain, or reach the first house in the valley. And here the
teamster, on his way to Portland market, would put up for the night;
and, if a bachelor, might sit an hour beyond the usual bedtime, and
steal a kiss from the mountain maid at parting. It was one of those
primitive taverns where the traveller pays only for food and lodging,
but meets with a homely kindness beyond all price. When the footsteps
were heard, therefore, between the outer door and the inner one, the
whole family rose up, grandmother, children, and all, as if about to