288 AT THE NORTH OF BE ARC AMP WATER. 
peep over the obscuring branch. On another 
perch he was perfectly in view. As he watched 
me he tipped his head first on one side, then on 
the other. Then he would poke it forward or 
swing it round on his supple little neck, and 
strive to get my measure if not my purposes. X 
squeaked like a mouse, and he became agitated, 
looking keenly at the snow near me. Suddenly, 
without warning, he flew into a long, narrow 
opening in the spruces and disappeared in its 
windings. Our search for him was in vain, and 
we hurried home to dry ourselves once again 
before taking our long drive to Conway. 
One o’clock saw us beneath a huge cotton 
umbrella, packed under a fur robe, on the back 
seat of a light two-horse wagon. The east wind 
beat fiercely in our faces, and the horses shook 
their heads and danced as the rain stung them. 
The cloud masses rolled through the valley, ed¬ 
dying between the mountains much as the Swift 
River whirls around its boulders. Sometimes 
the mists opened and a dark face of forest or 
damp rock showed for a moment. With a 
crack of the whip and a good-by to our hostess 
we dashed away. Through the window I caught 
a last glimpse of little Diddy, curled up on a 
big feather-bed, taking her midday nap. Then 
flying mud, rain, horses, and soaking forests 
alone met the eye, and we hurried eastward. 
