reat
icehouses loomed like queer castles, until we ran down to lake-level and
lost the illusion. Then we turned in the direction of Haverstraw, going
through the nice old-fashioned village of Congers. The hills and tiny
valleys were as gay and pretty as the summer day! We could hardly
realize that we weren't very far from New York, it all seemed such
lovely _lost_ country, private and purposely hidden, as if strangers had
no right to be there.

Soon the gay little hills were playing they were mountains, and almost
making us believe that they really were. The roadsides were like rock
gardens, spangled pink and gold and blue. Far below lay the river, but
it looked vast enough to be a wide lake; and always the "surface" was so
perfect we had the sensations of flying. At Haverstraw we were by the
river, and even the brick-fields contrived to take on a gorgeous,
glittering colour in the afternoon sun. Stony Point, a high rocky
promontory just above, is the place where "Mad Anthony Wayne" stormed
the fortress thought to be impregnable. The British called it "Little
Gibraltar." Jack had been looking out for that and the ruins of the old
fort, because daredevil Wayne is quite one of his heroes. The whole
peninsula here is a public park, so no wonder everything is beautifully
kept!

I think we got lost after this, owing to Ed Caspian, who led the
procession and was sure he knew the way. However, we reached West Point
somehow, after two or three wrong but delicious detours, returning on
our own tracks each time. Jack and I didn't care, but we could see the
back of Mrs. Shuster's head sulking itself almost off, and Patsey's hat
looking careworn and sad. It must have been wretched for her, seeing all
these heavenly things with nobody except Ed Caspian to say "Oh!" to:
flowery meadows, weeping willows like waving fountains of silver, cedars
stalking among them like tall black monks, dark bulks of near mountains,
blue ghosts of far ones; ferns and wild flowers sprouting from every
rock; here and there a shining streak of waterfall. What matter if we
did go wrong, and risk missing West Point to reach Tuxedo, instead of
saving the latter till next day? We spared ourselves that mistake, and
came back to the right road after twice passing a glorified log cabin of
an inn all balconies and rich brown wood on a stone foundation.
Mountains seemed to reach toward each other across the shining river,
and then to open out into a long corridor