36 NEW HAMPSHIRE 



book. And this third one, with its -rusty leaves, 

 is the Lapland azalea. You remember the day 

 you saw it first in middle June when all by 

 yourself you were making your first ascent of the 

 mountain, walking alternately over snowbanks 

 and beds of flowers. So far as the lovely blos- 

 soms are concerned, you have never seen it since. 

 Next morning your botanist bids you good-by ; 

 he is going down by the way of Tuckerman's 

 Eavine ; and at noon, after some indolent, happy 

 hours on the carriage-road and in the Alpine 

 Garden, you are again in the hotel office when 

 half a dozen campers from the northern peaks 

 make their appearance. Dusty, travel-stained, 

 disheveled, they bring the freedom of the hills 

 with them and fill the place with their breezi- 

 ness. Some of the " transients " clustered about 

 the stove smile at a sight so unconventional, but 

 the manager, the clerk, and the bellboys are bet- 

 ter informed. They have seen the leader of the 

 party before, and in a minute the word is passed 

 round. This is Mr. , who came up the moun- 

 tain with his son a year ago on the day of that 

 dreadful storm, when two later adventurers upon 

 the same path perished by the way, and he him- 

 self, old mountaineer that he was, with another 

 life hanging upon his own, had more than once 

 been all but ready to say, " It can't be done." 



