itself. But what difference did it make what they were, those illusive, almost transparent outlines? He knew them in some detail; he was well acquainted with those tremendous ravines, such as King's Ravine and Tuckerman's. He knew them with their wide-flung rocks and gigantic boulders, tumbling monsters torn from the mother-mountains, and strewn about as if the places were wild battle-grounds of Titans. . . He knew the subterranean passages beneath those piled-up masses with huge and fearsome cracks yawning across the path. He knew it all, and had exulted in it. . . . Nevertheless this little mountain was the one he loved.
He dropped on the lower branches of a spruce that carpeted the ground in its curious fashion, making an elastic seat, and gazed over the beloved details. He faced to the northeast, and at his right, half behind now, loomed his own Giant, with again a different aspect. . . He let his mind rove over many matters in desultory fashion.
