alight upon a mound, the shooting star-let,
the little electric dry cell, winking
brilliantly against the background of
somber evergreens, now dark as Erebus,
that girdle old Greylock's crown.

Then, freakish firefly, there, it was off
again, the prey of the nickum gusts, before
ever a hand could touch it--the
black parachute rotating like a whirligig-

Never--oh, never--was such a chase
for such a prize since mountain was mountain
and man was man!

Once again the steely clog, the weight
of the five-inch box containing the recording
apparatus, the precious log, almost
dragged it to a standstill! But the summit
gusts were strong.

Even the college boy began to have
heart-quakes and Pemrose heart-sinkings.

"Jove! What a stunt you're pulling
off on us, you old black crow of a
parachute--you booby-headed umbrella!"
groaned he. "C-can't you stay put for
[[240]]

p239 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p240w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p241

v?