he 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,--

"'Why are the mountains shadowed o'er?
Why stand they darkened gri