"Now give me your hand," said he. "Can you climb?"
They turned short by the boulder and began to mount the steep rugged hill-path, down which he had once carried his little sister. Elizabeth could make better footing than poor Winifred; and very soon they stood on the old height from which they could see the fair Shatemuc coming down between the hills and sweeping round their own little woody Shahweetah and off to the South Bend. The sun was bright on all the land now, though the cedars shielded the bit of hill-top well; and Wut- a-qut-o looked down upon them in all his gay Autumn attire. The sun was bright, but the air was clear and soft and free from mist and cloud and obscurity, as no sky is but October's.
"Sit down," said Winthrop, throwing himself on the bank which was carpeted with very short green grass.
"I would just as lieve stand," said Elizabeth.
"I wouldn't as lieve have you. You've been on your feet long enough to-day. Come! —"
She yielded to the gentle pulling of her hand, and sat down on the grass; half amused and half fretted; wondering what he was going to say next. Winthrop was silent for a little space; and Elizabeth sat looking straight before her, or rather with her head a little turned to the right, from her companion, towards Wut-a-qut-o; the deep sides of her sun-bonnet shutting out all but a little framed picture of the gay woody foreground, a bit of the blue river, and the mountain's yellow side.
"How beautiful it was all down there, three or four hours ago," said Elizabeth.
"I didn't know you had so much romance in your disposition — to go there this morning to meet me."
"I didn't go there to meet you."
"Yes you did."