“Just then a low rumble was heard, far off on the slopes of Mt. Washington, across the valley.
“‘There!’ exclaimed Midget, ‘I must be going. Good-by, dear Lady-fall!’
“‘Good-by, good-by!’ sang the brook, as Midget hurried away down the path toward the hotel.
“He arrived just in time to escape a wetting. How it did rain! The lightning glittered and the thunder rolled until the people huddled about the big fire in the parlor were fairly scared into silence.
“But Midget, with wide-open eyes, was not a bit frightened, and kept right on telling me this story.”
“Ah,” said Pet, “that’s lovely. But I suspect it was a dear old gentleman, and not a small boy, who heard the waterfall lady sing.”
“She is there, anyway,” said uncle Will, “and I can show her to you at Crawford’s, within two minutes’ walk of the hotel, the very next time we go there.”
Pet looked puzzled, but said nothing.
“Uncle,” said Kittie, throwing a few strips of bark on the fire, “you said something about having a talk on birches.”
“Well, dear—it must be a short one—how many kinds of birches do you suppose there are in our woods?”