"Oh, hurrah! I can really see off to
Mount Greylock--old King Greylock--even
the steel tower upon it--oh! so
plainly," murmured the madcap in the
Chair, and nestled triumphantly against
its rocky back.

/*
"Greylock, cloud-girdled, from his purple throne,
A shout of gladness sends,
And up soft meadow slopes, a warbling tone,
Of Housatonic blends."
*/

Yes! she felt as if they were two throned
dignitaries, she and Greylock; for she
wore the crown of derring do, and King
Greylock, still wearing a thin diadem of
snow, was enthroned for ever in her imagination
as the favored peak from which
the first experiments with her father's
immortal rocket were to be made.

Upon Greylock's crest within a week
or two, maybe--at all events before summer
dog-day heat clogged and fogged the
air--her transcendent dream--or the first
part of it--would come to pass: her
yearning thumb would press the button
[[80]]

p079 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p080w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p081

v?