We tugged on and up. When at last we were within a stone’s throw of the summit, our eagerness made us silent. We halted once more before the final effort.
“Nick,” panted Gale, “it’s the Promised Land. You’re entitled to the first look. Go on ahead, and come back and tell us.”
“No,” I said, “we’ll leave the boat here, and go up four abreast, to look over.”
“Anyhow, you’ll see it first, that way,” said Gale, “and Bill next.”
Side by side we hurried forward. Just at the brow, the hill was a bit steeper, and there was a surface of bare rock, over which we scrambled, and a moment later stood on the summit. Then——
Before us—level upland with here and there a patch of white, where snow still lingered. But between and beyond the white, beginning at our feet, and stretching away to the farthest horizon limits, a thick, yielding carpet of wonderful Purple Violets!
Mr. Sturritt was first to speak.
“The Lord be praised for all His mercies!” he said.
Ferratoni was down with his face among the leaves and blossoms.
Gale said: “I’ve been to violet receptions before, but this rather lays it over anything, so far.”