lassies up here on the lonely trail, with
a badly hurt man. 'Woman!' says he,
kind o' fierce-like, 'if they were yer own
bit lassies, ye 'd scorch the rocks, climbing
to 'em.' 'Man!' says I," the Greylock
woman paused, half-laughingly, to catch
her breath, '"I never laid eyes on them,
or on the broken-kneed man, either, but
I'll warm the way, just the same.' But,
mercy! it took me most an hour to get
here--though only a mile of climbing
-the old Man Killer is--so-o--fierce."

Her eye, at that, went to the fire, now
brilliantly painting the trail, to the
pillowed figure upon the moss, with the
sweater-roll in the hollow of the injured
knee.

"But, land sakes! I needn't ha' been
in such a rriad hurry getting here, after
all--giving my skin to make ear-laps
for the old Man Killer!" she cried, holding
up two raw palms, flayed by indiscriminate
climbing. " For, my senses! they're
no stray lambs o' tenderfoot--those 'twa bit
[[289]]

p288 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p289w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p290

v?