"Come, Amy," said Burt. "Len and Webb are now fairly astride of their
horticultural hobbies. Come with me, and see the moon shining on old
Storm King."

They pushed aside the heavy crimson curtains, which added a sense of warmth
to the cheerful room, and looked at the cold white world without--a ghost
of a world, it seemed to Amy. The moon, nearly full, had risen in the gap
of the Highlands, and had now climbed well above the mountains, softening
and etherealizing them until every harsh, rugged outline was lost. The
river at their feet looked pallid and ghostly also. When not enchained by
frost, lights twinkled here and there all over its broad surface, and the
intervals were brief when the throbbing engines of some passing steamer
were not heard. Now it was like the face of the dead when a busy life is
over.

"It's all very beautiful," said Amy, shivering, "but too cold and still.
I love life, and this reminds one of death, the thoughts of which, with
all that it involves, have oppressed me so long that I must throw off the
burden. I was growing morbid, and giving way to a deeper and deeper
depression, and now your sunny home life seems just the antidote for it
all."

The warm-hearted fellow was touched, for there were tears in the young
girl's eyes. "You have come to the right place, Amy," he said, eagerly.
"You cannot love life more than I, and I promise to make it lively for
you. I'm just the physician to minister to the mind diseased with
melancholy. Trust me. I can do a hundred-fold more for you than delving,
matter-of-fact Webb. So come to me when you have the blues. Let us make
an alliance offensive and defensive against all the powers of dulness and