226 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



From four o'clock until sunset we drove, taking 

 for our road the one leading around three sides 

 of fair Chocorua Pond, thence up the Chocorua 

 River to the eastern side of the mountain. 

 The afternoon was sultry, and over, the moun- 

 tains the outlines of thunder-heads faintly edged 

 with gold showed through a bluish white haze. 

 The mountains looked double their usual height, 

 and thin, for detail, light and shadow, were lost 

 in the haze. Parts of the lake were broken into 

 small waves, and every wave was a tongue of fire 

 borrowed from the red sun. Under the lofty 

 white pines fringing the eastern shore the shade 

 was deep and soothing, and a faint breeze made 

 the foliage breathe and sigh. From the edge of 

 the water a little bird flew up to a branch, shook 

 itself and presented apparently novel coloring. 

 Not until this interesting scrap of tropical life 

 began to dry and smooth down its feathers did 

 it become recognizable as a black-throated green 

 warbler fresh from a bath. At the northeast 

 corner of the lake a broad beach of white sand 

 extends for an eighth of a mile in crescent form. 

 The water in this bay is shallow, and under it 

 the sand is clean. Chocorua's horn was reflected 

 in the heart of this bay, while sleepy pickerel and 

 schools of minnows could be seen poised above the 

 sand. Spotted sandpipers ran along the beach, 

 kingbirds shot out from tall pines and hovered, 



