"Good-by, dear Cousin Wealthy!" and "Good-by, dear Miss Bond!" cried the two happy girls; and off they drove in high spirits, while Miss Wealthy went back to the piazza and picked up the French books, wiped them carefully, and then went upstairs and put them in the little bookcase in Hildegarde's room.
"She is a very dear girl," she said, shaking her head; "a little heedless, but perhaps all girls are. Why, Mildred—oh! but Mildred was an exception. I suppose," she added, "they call me an old maid. Very likely. Not these girls,—for they are too well-mannered,—but people. An old maid!" Miss Wealthy sighed a little, and put her hand up to the pansy breastpin,—a favorite gesture of hers; and then she went into the house, to make a new set of bags for the curtain-tassels.
Meanwhile the girls were driving along, looking about them, and enjoying themselves immensely. Jeremiah had given them directions for a drive "just about so long," and they knew that they were to turn three times to the left and never to the right. And first they went up a hill, from the top of which they saw "all the kingdoms of the earth," as Rose said. The river valley was behind them, and they could see the silver stream here and there, gleaming between its wooded banks. Beyond were blue hills, fading into the blue of the sky. But before them—oh! before them was the wonder. A vast circle, hill and dale and meadow, all shut in by black, solemn woods; and beyond the woods, far, far away, a range of mountains, whose tops gleamed white in the sunlight.
"There is snow on them," said Rose. "Oh, Hildegarde! they must be the White Mountains. Jeremiah told me that we could see them from here. That highest peak must be Mount Washington. Oh, to think of it!"
They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the mountains, which lay like giants at rest.
"Rose," said Hildegarde, at length, "the Great Carbuncle is there, hidden in some crevice of those mountains; and the Great Stone Face is there, and oh! so many wonderful things. Some day we will go there, you and I; sometime when you are quite, quite strong, you know. And we will see the Flume and the wonderful Notch. You remember Hawthorne's story of the 'Ambitious Guest'? I think it is one of the most beautiful of all. Perhaps—who knows?—we may find the Great Carbuncle." They were silent again; but presently Dr. Abernethy, who cared nothing whatever about mountains or carbuncles, whinnied, and gave a little impatient shake.
"Of course!" said Hildegarde. "Poor dear! he was hot, wasn't he? and the flies bothered him. Here is our turn to the left; a pine-tree at the corner,—yes, this must be it! Good-by, mountains! Be sure to stay there till the next time we come."
"What was that little poem about the Greek mountains that you told me the other day?" asked Rose, as they drove along,—"the one you have copied in your commonplace book. You said it was a translation from some modern Greek poet, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Hildegarde; "but I don't know what poet. I found it in a book of Dr. Felton's at home."
She thought a moment, and then repeated the verses,—