most aptly named; and if the spirit of Leather-stocking has any
concern with the matter, he is a mocking spirit."

John Effingham now looked at his watch, and then he explained to the
party a pleasure he had in store for them. On a sort of small, public
promenade, that lay at the point where the river flowed out of the
lake, stood a rude shell of a building that was called the "gun-
house." Here, a speaking picture of the entire security of the
country, from foes within as well as from foes without, were kept two
or three pieces of field artillery, with doors so open that any one
might enter the building, and even use the guns at will, although
they properly belonged to the organized corps of the state.

One of these guns had been sent a short distance down the valley; and
John Effingham informed his companions that they might look
momentarily for its reports to arouse the echoes of the mountains. He
was still speaking when the gun was fired, its muzzle being turned
eastward. The sound first reached the side of the Vision, abreast of
the village, whence the reverberations reissued, and rolled along the
range, from cave to cave, and cliff to cliff, and wood to wood, until
they were lost, like distant thunder, two or three leagues to the
northward. The experiment was thrice repeated, and always with the
same magnificent effect, the western hills actually echoing the
echoes of the eastern mountains, like the dying strains of some
falling music.

"Such a locality would be a treasure in the vicinity of a melo-
dramatic theatre," said Paul, laughing, "for certainly, no artificial
thunder I have ever heard has equalled this. This sheet of water
might even receive a gondola."

"And yet, I fear one accustomed to the boundless horizon of the
ocean, might in time weary of it," answered John Effingham,
significantly.

Paul made no answer; and the party rowed away in silence.

"Yonder is the spot where we have so long been accustomed to resort
for Pic-Nics," said Eve, pointing out a lovely place, that was
beautifully shaded by old oaks, and on which stood a rude house that
was much dilapidated, and indeed injured, by the hands of man. John
Effingham smiled, as his cousin showed the place to her companions,
promising them an early and a nearer view of its beauties.

"By the way, Miss Effingham," he said, "I suppose you flatter
yourself with being the heiress of that desirable retreat?"

"It is very natural that, at some da