“They catch a great many trout in these mountains, I’ve heard,” said Jim. “Say we get some poles and try our luck before we go back, eh, Gerald?”
“Surely,” responded the person addressed. “I brought plenty of fishing tackle in the big chest on the back of the machine. I have also four poles in sections, each fitted with a fine reel and silk line. I wouldn’t come on a camping trip like this without having a try at the fish, I assure you.”
When the party had rested sufficiently, the climb back to camp was begun, and even Dorothy was thankful that they had not gone to the village, realizing the truth of Gerald’s words, that they would have needed a conveyance to get them back to their starting point.
It was late afternoon when they reached the camp, to find that Aunt Betty and Ephraim had supper on the fire. And a fine supper it was, too—fine for camp life. When it was spread on the ground before them a short time later, they devoured it ravenously, which pleased Aunt Betty immensely, for she loved to see young folks eat.
The meal over and the things cleared away, the young folks and Aunt Betty gathered before the ladies’ tent where a fine view of the valley could be obtained, and for some little time were silent, as the wonderful glories of Mother Nature unfolded themselves. Before they realized it, almost, the day was gone—their first day in camp—and night was upon them. A gray light, mingling with the faint afterglow of twilight, showed clearly the outlines of the distant mountains. The stars blinked down from their heavenly dome and the air was cool and comfortable, thanks to the altitude. To the silent watchers it seemed that no skies were ever so deep and clear as those which overspread Camp Breck.
“It would seem,” said Aunt Betty, breaking a long silence, “that in making the stars, nature was bent on atoning in the firmament for a lack of beauty and brilliancy on the earth.”
“How like the Gates of Wonderland I read about when a wee child are these hills on such a night,” said Dorothy reverently.
“Stop!” warned Molly. “If you don’t, Jim will soon be chiding you for becoming poetic.”
“No; this is different, somehow,” said the boy. “It has gotten into my blood. I feel much as Dorothy does—a sensation I’ve never experienced before, though I’ve traveled through the Catskills till I know them like a book. Even the Rockies did not appeal to me in this way.”
“It is not the environment, but the viewpoint, Jim,” Aunt Betty said. “The nights in the Catskills are just as beautiful as here; it happens that you have never thought of the wonders of nature in quite the same way in which you have had them brought home to you to-night. I daresay you will never spend another night in any mountains, however, without thinking of the transcendent beauty of it all.”