on, while Mary Fuller stood eagerly watching his progress.

"Oh, see, see how beautiful--do look, Isabel, if he could only get up
so high?"

She broke off with an exclamation of delight. Enoch Sharp had glanced
downward at the sound of her voice, and directed by the eager look
which accompanied it, made a spring higher up the rock.

A mountain ash, perfectly red with great clusters of berries, shot out
from a little hollow between two ledges, and overhung the place where
Mr. Sharp had found foothold. As if its own wealth of berries were not
enough, a bitter-sweet vine had sprung up in the same hollow, and
coiling itself around the tree, deluged it with a shower of golden
clusters that mingled upon the same branch with the bright red fruit
of the ash.

"Oh, was there ever on earth anything so beautiful?" cried Mary,
disentangling the delicate ends of the vines flung down by her
benefactor. "Oh, look, Isabel, look!"

She held up a natural wreath, to which three or four clusters hung
like drops of burnt gold.

"Only see!"

With this exclamation she wove a handful of the blue autumn flowers in
with the berries and long slender leaves.

"Let me put it around your hat, Isabel. Oh, Mr. Sharp, may I wind this