AND DUDGEON SMILED 177 



Heights are greater when you look up than when 

 you look down, and the falls seem greater from 

 there at their feet. 



From this ridge where I stood ran a path in the 

 granite — not a path, just a track that seemed to 

 lead behind the fall itself. I am sure that nothing 

 but a mountain sheep had ever trod that perilous 

 way. I happened to wonder to Dudgeon as we 

 sat there (the spray from the fall wetting our 

 faces, and the great wind that the whirlpool makes 

 blowing about us) where the track went. 



Instantly Dudgeon was up, laid his hat down, 

 weighted it with a stone to keep it from blowing 

 away, and, before I could stop him, was dancing 

 down that dizzy shelf, as lightly and sure-footed 

 as a chamois. I called him in vain. 



He went as easily, as carelessly, as you or I 

 would walk a city pavement, to the very edge of 

 the falls, ■ where he could look behind that mar- 

 velous curtain of mist and spray and foam — 

 looked into its very heart of rose and opal and 

 emerald; looked as unconcernedly as I look at 

 this page — and came dancing back, pausing to 



