“We must camp in the midst of these flowers,” cried Grace Harlowe. “It is finer than any place we have yet seen in these mountains.”
“I agree with you,” answered Elfreda. “It gives me fresh courage to go on. Why, Grace, I feel as if I could vault a six-foot fence.”
“Suppose you try to jump over the white mare,” suggested Grace, laughingly. “This high altitude has gone to my head, too.”
“No, thank you. I think that it might be best for a person of my years to keep her feet on the ground,” laughed Elfreda. “But the effect, as well as the view here, is wonderful. I do not believe there is anything like it anywhere else in the world.”
Camp was promptly made amid the flowers. Soon thereafter the clouds on the horizon rolled down behind the mountains as the sun sank out of sight, but as long as light remained on the mountain tops, the wonderful pink tint clung to the everlasting snows on the pinnacles, and the mosquitoes increased in numbers and ferociousness.
“The higher we go the worse they get,” complained Stacy Brown. “Isn’t it queer how that pink tint hangs on?”
“Say, girls,” bubbled Emma Dean, “what if it should prove to be ice cream in reality?”
“In that event I know someone who never would go home,” laughed Nora.
“Two someones,” reflected Stacy, with a far-away, longing look in his eyes.