66 WINTER SUNSHINE 



was a grace and an ornament to the hills is now a 

 disfiguration. Like worn and unwashed linen ap 

 pear the remains of that spotless robe with which 

 he clothed the world as his bride. 



But he will not abdicate without a struggle. Day 

 after day he rallies his scattered forces, and night 

 after night pitches his white tents on the hills, and 

 would fain regain his lost ground; but the young 

 prince in every encounter prevails. Slowly and 

 reluctantly the gray old hero retreats up the moun 

 tain, till finally the south rain comes in earnest, and 

 in a night he is dead. 



