When morning came, there were so many interesting things to do that Ella hardly knew how to choose among them. First of all, she must of course have a good long look at the mountains, every one of them. Little girl as she was, she could remember when some of them were a little different in their appearance. The nearest one was Ossipee, a kindly, friendly, sunny mountain, with a great pasture running far up the side to a gray rock that looked quite like a cabin. This had not come into view until the trees about it had been cut down. The children realized that the “cabin” was much larger than it appeared, and they had made up a story to the effect that a good-natured giant from the other side of the mountain had come over to this side, bringing his house with him.

Beyond this rock were ledges, and after a rain the water ran down over them in a silver sheet. The children called them the Shining Rocks, the home of the sunbeam fairies. They had once climbed to the top of the mountain, and when they came to the rocks, they more than half expected to catch a glimpse of a little man in grass-green hat or a dainty fairy queen in a gown of sunbeams. No fairies appeared, and they decided that it was foolish to expect them, for every one ought to know that they will not appear when grown-ups are about.

To the west lay Israel, massive and dignified. That had not changed; but Ella felt sure that Whiteface was not quite the same. It was called Whiteface because a slide many years before had torn off the face of the mountain, and left only the bare white granite. Every summer the trees and bushes made their way a little farther in upon the rocks; and a keen observer could really see that the slide was a little less white and a little more green.

Away to the north was Chocorua, the mountain that in sun and shade and mist and tempest and calm was always an exquisite picture. It lay with quiet majesty on the horizon, stately and beautiful. The forest had crept up the sides, but the summit was a great mass of granite, sharply pointed and reaching far up into the blue sky. Ella thought it looked like a picture that she had seen of the Alps. She did so hope that some day she might climb it. It would be like taking a trip to Europe, she thought. Of all the mountains in view, Chocorua was the one that she loved best. “I wish you could understand. I wish I could put my arm around you and tell you how I love you,” she used to whisper to it sometimes. The mountain looked more and more beautiful, but it made no reply. One day, however, a wisp of white cloud floated quickly over the peak while she was speaking. “You do understand, and you are waving to me,” she said to the mountain, and after this she loved it more than ever.

Ella had been walking slowly down the narrow road that wound between the tall alder bushes down to the river. At one place she stopped to put aside the ferns growing in front of a rock of pale gray granite. The side of the rock nearest the road was of a darker gray and was shaped like a door. This was the entrance to fairyland, the children had decided, and Ella stood waiting a moment to see if the queen of the fairies would appear. If the queen should wear a bright pink dress with deep red lines, then Ella would know for sure that she had seen her Majesty in the little woods by the lake near the seminary.

But Boy Cousin was coming up the road, and Ella hastily brought the ferns together, for she had begun to suspect that he did not believe in fairies quite so firmly as she, so she did not speak of them when they met on the bridge.

This bridge was made of split logs laid upon great rough beams of wood. On each side there was a rail cut with many initials. Among them was a big “E,” which Ella had cut the summer before. Under the bridge, as far up and down stream as they could see, there were rocks of all sizes and shapes. It was so dry a season that in many places the water had slipped out of sight among them, making a fresh, merry, rippling sound.

“It’s playing hide and seek,” declared Boy Cousin, “and it is saying, ‘Here I am! Find me if you can!’”

Over the river hung wild grapes, as yet green and sour; sprays of goldenrod; graceful and dainty white birches; and here and there was a bright leaf or two of the early autumn, or a reddening spray of bittersweet or the scarlet berries of the black alder.

The children slipped down beside the bridge to one of their favorite places, a big flat rock overhung by a white birch and a maple. They were looking up through the branches when Ella exclaimed: