She is one of the freshest, sweetest, most unselfish girls I ever met. Hardly an hour passes when she is not doing something for another’s comfort—adjusting old ladies’ shawls, reading aloud, holding a tired child, or something of the sort. In fact, she’s the most like you, mother, of anybody I ever met!
[CHAPTER IV.]
THE GLACIER AND THE BEAR.
Thus far the trip had been free from special adventure beyond the ordinary happenings in the course of an extraordinary journey. But on the day following the departure from Banff, one or two incidents occurred to break the monotony. In the first place, there was Tom’s affair with the bear. But I must retrace my steps slightly, before introducing Bruin.
The Excursion left Banff on the ninth morning from Boston. The road now lay through a wilderness of mighty hills. Onward and upward labored the train, following the curves of mountain streams, rattling in and out of tunnels, and creeping cautiously over high trestles that creaked ominously beneath the heavy cars.
An observation car had been added, and here the Percivals gathered, defying cinders and wintry air. Far above the ravine through which the stubborn Canadian Pacific had pushed its way, they caught glimpses of snow-banks and glaciers, which sent foaming torrents down the mountain-side to join the Kicking-Horse River.
Late in the afternoon they whirled around the last dizzy curve, plunged into a snow-shed and out again, and halted for the night beside a picturesque little hotel in the very heart of the Selkirks.
Most of the party, including all the Percivals except Tom, at once started along a forest path for new wonders that were said to lie beyond. Adelaide Selborne was too tired to go, and her brother, having seen her comfortably resting in a delightful little room in the hotel, hurried off to join the rest.