A storm set in on the night of our party's arrival at the Crawford House, and heavy clouds settled down over the brows of the great mountains that hemmed in the narrow valley. The hotel was thronged with visitors, and the new comers had to accept of such accommodations as two small rooms in the upper story could afford.
"I declare," exclaimed Ellen, when the porters had brought in the trunks, thrown back the fastenings, and retired, "after rackings, and tossings, and tumblings enough to disjoint and unhinge a leviathan, to what a comfortless haven are we arrived at last! O, for a tithe of the luxury I rolled in at Niagara and Saratoga, or even one of the state-rooms of the 'Hendrick Hudson' or 'Belle of the Waters!' They were rooms of state indeed compared with these dismal little pens. How are we going to turn round in them, Florence, much less unload our trunks of their wardrobes and array ourselves for appearance in the parlors and dining saloon?"
"Dear me!" answered Florence, as she stood before the window, blowing her benumbed fingers, "I don't think we shall have any occasion to open our trunks, for there is not a frock in mine I could venture to put on, unless I was willing to be frozen to death within the hour."
"But what are we to do?" said Ellen, approaching the other window and gazing forth on the dark, stormy evening, that was rapidly closing in around them. Nothing could be seen beyond the small circle of the valley in which the house stood, save dense clouds of fog and mist. The rain poured like a second deluge, and terrific winds roared, and shrieked, and bellowed like infuriate spirits of the rushing storm.
"What geese we have made of ourselves, Florence!" resumed Ellen, after she had gazed in silence a few moments on the gloomy prospect presented to her eyes; "jamming into crowded, uncomfortable coaches, and bruising and battering our flesh and bones to jelly, all to reach this wonderful abode of grandeur and sublimity. What 'Alps on Alps' we expected would tower before our astonished visions! But here we are, sunk in a dismal abyss on the extreme northern verge of civilization, and never a mountain to be seen, or anything else save great lowering clouds that threaten to fall and crush us yet deeper into the earth."
"If I could only get to see the mountains, I would not mind all the discomfitures," said Florence, peering into the growing blackness without.
"I tell you there are no mountains," said Ellen, growing impatient in her disappointment.
"O, yes," returned Florence; "I think there must be a few somewhere in the vicinity."
"Then why can't we see them?" demanded Ellen.
"They are hidden by the clouds, I suppose," said Florence. "I am told Mount Washington is veiled in their fleecy mantles for weeks sometimes."