liarly delectable patch and ate everything in sight; he felt like a vandal,—but they were satisfying.
The path went up and down like a waving string, dipping into rough little ravines, across tangled bottoms, along which tiny streams usually rippled, up the opposite, steeply-dropping rocks, or around huge boulders rolled in ages past down from the mountain's wild sides. The trail led out at lost on the western edge of a transverse bluff heading the wildest part of the whole great hollow that lies between the Marlborough Ridge and Monte Rosa, where far below the cliff on which he stood, the heavy tangle is practically impassible. On the little plateau on the top of the cliff, lie springs of crystal water, icy under over-hanging rocks; from them go dancing, scampering little rills importantly hurrying on their far way to the Connecticut. Here the clefts and rents in the mountain are jagged and deep and frequently one has to climb around the heads
