to my buggy and the old lady, who,
regarding the horrors of the fire-holes, could only say, "Good Lord!" at
thirty-second intervals. Her husband talked about "dreffel waste of
steam-power," and we went on in the clear, crisp afternoon, speculating
as to the formation of geysers.

"What I say," shrieked the old lady _apropos_ of matters theological,
"and what I say more, after having seen all that, is that the Lord has
ordained a Hell for such as disbelieve his gracious works."

_Nota bene._--Tom had profanely cursed the near mare for stumbling. He
looked straight in front of him and said no word, but the left corner of
his left eye flickered in my direction.

"And if," continued the old lady, "if we find a thing so dreffel as all
that steam and sulphur allowed on the face of the earth, musn't we
believe that there is something ten thousand times more terrible below
prepared un_toe_ our destruction?"

Some people have a wonderful knack of extracting comfort from things. I
am ashamed to say I agreed ostentatiously with the old lady. She
developed the personal view of the matter.

"_Now_ I shall be able to say something to Anna Fincher about her way
of living. Shan't I, Blake?" This to her husband.

"Yes," said he, speaking slowly after a heavy tiffin. "But the girl's a
good girl;" and they fell to arguing as to whether the luckless Anna
Fincher really stood in need of lectures edged with Hell fire (she went
to dances I believe), while I got out and walked in the dust alongside
of Tom.

"I drive blame cur'ous kinder folk through this place," said he. "Blame
cur'ous. 'Seems a pity that they should ha' come so far just to liken
Norris Basin to Hell. 'Guess Chicago would ha' served 'em, speaking in
comparison, jest as good."

We curved the hill and entered a forest of spruce, the path serpentining
between the tree-boles, the wheels running silent on immemorial mould.
There was nothing alive in the forest save ourselves. Only a river was
speaking angrily somewhere to the right. For miles we drove till Tom
bade us alight and look at certain falls. Wherefore we stepped out of
that forest and nearly fell down a cliff which guarded a tumbled river
and returned demanding fresh miracles. If the water had run uphill, we
should perhaps have taken more notice of it; but 'twas only a waterfall,
and I really forget whether the water was warm or cold. There is a
stream here called Firehole River. It is fed by the overflow from th