'clock it began to cloud up. That was very
interesting. The sun was shining brightly here, but we could see that it
was raining hard over in the direction of Lancaster. Slowly it began to
come toward us. Some of the boys made wagers as to how soon it would
rain here. Then one of the proprietors came out, and surprised us all by
saying that it would probably rain over on the Presidential Range before
it did here. This seemed extraordinary to us, you know, because why
should it skip right over us and go to the big mountains?"

"Well, did it? It does seem impossible."

"That is exactly what occurred. You see, it is like this: Whenever a
storm comes from Lancaster way, the clouds when they get here are
divided by the Pliny Range, and pass on either side, leaving us dry.
Then they strike against the sides of the Presidential Range, and roll
back into our valley. It was a curious sight, I assure you, to see the
clouds flying in exactly opposite directions."

"Well, but after all, there could not have been any great beauty in the
rain. It must have blotted out all the view."

"Yes, but think how odd it was to find all these tremendous peaks
suddenly gone. Not a mountain in sight in any direction. But then, the
thunder. Oh! that was grand. The way it rolls about and reverberates
gives one a good idea of a great battle. There was something afterwards
that carried out this similarity, too, which I wish I could describe. It
was after the storm had passed and the bright-setting sun shone forth.
Try to see the picture. Imagine yourself sitting just where I am now,
and looking toward the Presidential Range, the sun setting red behind
us. Mount Washington had shaken the clouds from his head, and was
encircled by a gorgeous halo, in the form of a brilliant double rainbow.
One end of it seemed to come up right out of the valley there, whilst
the other disappeared behind Starr King Mountain. The flying clouds,
still black and heavy, whirled swiftly along, hanging low, and, with the
sun approaching the horizon, made shifting shadows across the base of
Mount Washington, whilst between the rifts the red rays of the sun
striking different parts made beauteous timings among the green and the
brown of trees and rock. Oh, if an artist could only have seen that. But
then it would have been useless, for the hand of man could not paint
such grandeur. It was in the foreground that the resemblance to the
battle-field was to be seen again. Every h