142 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER . 
“cyclones” with me and set them at the most 
favorable spots along the way. Brook cross¬ 
ings, big, moss-grown stumps or logs, boulders 
overhanging springs or rivulets, and old log¬ 
ging camps were among the places which seemed 
to me likely to be frequented by gnomes. As I 
was not to return until the next day, a night 
would intervene to give the little cave-dwellers 
time to smell the corn and to inspect and spring 
the traps. 
The intervale was very beautiful as it lay 
tranquil in the autumn haze, but the memories 
of last Christmas-time had a charm about them 
which even the foretaste of Indian summer 
could not equal. Snow adds greatly to the dig¬ 
nity and grandeur of our New England moun¬ 
tains, making them more akin to the Alps, per¬ 
petual in their wintry covering. Chocorua, 
always a reminder of the Matterhorn, is much 
more like it when clad in ice, and rose-tinted 
by the morning sun. Even Swift River, framed 
in meadow brakes, waving osmundas, and gay 
scarlet maples, seemed less sparkling than when 
set in ice and overhanging banks of pure white 
snow. 
As night came, coldness suggestive of winter 
crept over the great plain. The first light frost 
came caressingly in the still night hours and 
fell upon the pumpkin vines and the delicate 
