le, who had been coming here for years, and had just now for the
first time been up Mount Washington, and they said that while the trip
was pleasant enough, it did not pay for the exertion. Perhaps Mrs.
Farquhar did not know that mountain-climbing was disapproved of here as
sea-bathing was at Newport. It was hardly the thing one would like
to do, except, of course, as a mere lark, and, don't you know, with a
party.

Mrs. Farquhar said that was just the reason she wanted to go. She was
willing to make any sacrifice; she considered herself just a missionary
of provincialism up North, where people had become so cosmopolitan
that they dared not enjoy anything. She was an enemy of the Boston
philosophy. What is the Boston philosophy? Why, it is not to care about
anything you do care about.

The party that was arranged for this trip included Mrs. Cortlandt
and her bevy of beauty and audacity, Miss Lamont and her uncle, Mrs.
Farquhar, the artist, and the desperate pilgrim of love. Mrs. Farquhar
vowed to Forbes that she had dragged King along at the request of the
proprietor of the hotel, who did not like to send a guest away, but he
couldn't have all the trees at Profile Lake disfigured with his cutting
and carving. People were running to him all the while to know what it
meant with "I. B.," "I. B.," "I. B.," everywhere, like a grove of
Baal.

From the junction to Fabyan's they rode in an observation car, all open,
and furnished with movable chairs, where they sat as in a balcony. It
was a picturesque load of passengers. There were the young ladies in
trim traveling-suits, in what is called compact fighting trim; ladies in
mourning; ladies in winter wraps; ladies in Scotch wraps; young men with
shawl-straps and opera-glasses, standing, legs astride, consulting maps
and imparting information; the usual sweet pale girl with a bundle of
cat-tails and a decorative intention; and the nonchalant young man in
a striped English boating cap, who nevertheless spoke American when he
said anything.

As they were swinging slowly along the engine suddenly fell into
a panic, puffing and sending up shrill shrieks of fear in rapid
succession. There was a sedate cow on the track. The engine was
agitated, it shrieked more shrilly, and began backing in visible terror.
Everybody jumped and stood up, and the women clung to the men, all
frightened. It was a beautiful exhibition of the sweet dependence of the
sex in the hour of danger. The cow w