miles in ten hours?'

'Very well for men, my dear Elsie, but I think such excursions scarcely
fitting for ladies, especially for young and pretty ones. One of Lucy's
wild-goose chases, I doubt not! However, I am quite ready to listen to
your experience.'

'One morning, at nine o'clock, Lucy and I left the Laurel House,
intending to visit the valley of the East Kill, a fine trout stream that
rises near the North Mountain, and flows into the Schoharie. The first
three miles being well-known ground, we preferred to drive, but left the
little carriage on the stony road to East Jewett, soon after that road
branches from the main Clove stage route. The day was magnificent, and
the view from the fir-garlanded sides of the Parker Mountain novel and
bewitching. The North and South Mountains, Round Top, the jagged peaks
bounding the Plattekill Clove, the narrow cleft of the Stony Clove, and
the terraced slope of Clum's Hill swept across the horizon bathed in a
soft September shimmer. A few birds were still piping, golden rods and
purple asters lighted up the wayside, and luscious blackberries, large
as Lawtons, hung in great clusters, from which no mortal hand had as yet
plucked a single berry. There they grew all for us and the birds, and
you may be sure we enjoyed this feast so lavishly spread in the
wilderness. The crown of the hill passed, we left the lovely view
behind, and began the descent into the valley of the East Kill. The
forest growth was here dense and of various species, and the road,
although solitary, apparently well worn. An ominous rustling among the
trees was the only sound we heard until we again reached the open
country, where a market cart, driven by a woman, assured us of some near
habitation. A long, broken valley lies between the hills bordering the
Schoharie, and the river range, and contains the settlements of East
Jewett, Big Hollow, and Windham Centre. Near the first-named place (a
scattered collection of farmhouses), we struck the East Kill, and began
to follow it up toward its source. It is a clear, rapid stream, and we
did not wonder the trout still loved to linger in its cool waters. On a
rustic bridge we sat down and ate our simple lunch of gingerbread,
crackers, plums, and almonds. The sun was in the meridian, and
counselled return, but curiosity led us on to further explorations.

'The winding road crossed and re-crossed the stream. It was bordered by
lofty summits, and led through many a cl