Mrs. Rowe was willing if Mrs. Breynton were willing; Mr. Guy Hallam had no objections. Sarah was delighted, Gypsy radiant, Tom patronizing, and Winnie envious, and so, amid a pleasant little bustle, the preparations began, and one sunny morning the party stowed themselves and their baggage comfortably away in Mr. Surly's double-seated wagon (much to the horror of his excellent wife, who looked out of the window, and wondered if Miss Rowe did expect that wild young un of hers to come home alive), and trotted briskly out of Yorkbury, along the steep, uneven road that led to the mountain. Ripton was a long ride from Yorkbury, and the wagon was somewhat crowded, owing to the presence of Mr. Surly, who was by no means a thin man, and who acted as driver. He was to return with his "team," as the Vermont farmers invariably call their vehicles, and when the party were ready to come home Mr. Fisher was to be hired to bring them down. It would have been unsafe for any but an experienced driver to hold the reins on those mountain roads, as Gypsy was convinced, afresh, before the ride was over. For the first few miles the way led along the beautiful valley of the Otter Creek, and then grew suddenly steep as they began to ascend the mountain. Such beautiful pictures unfolded before them, as they wound slowly up, that even Gypsy did not feel like talking, and it was a very silent party. They passed through pine forests, dense and still, where the wind was hoarse, and startled squirrels flew over the fallen trunks and boughs of ruined trees. They rode close to the edge of sheer precipices four hundred feet down, with trout-brooks, like silver threads, winding through the gorges. Great walls of rock rose above and around them, and seemed to shut them in with a frown. Sharp turns in the road brought them suddenly to the edge of abysses from which, in dark nights, they might have easily ridden off. Gay flowers perfumed the fresh, high winds, and rank mosses grew and twined, and hung thickly upon old stones and logs and roadside banks, where the mountain sloped steeply. Far above were the tops of those tall, sentinel trees, called, by Vermonters, the Procession of Pines, the tower above their lesser comrades two by two, regular, solemn, and dark against the sky for miles of forest-track. Between these were patches and glimpses of a sky without a cloud. Gypsy had seen it all many times before; but it was always new and grand to her; it always made the blood leap in her veins and the stars twinkle in her eyes, and set her happy heart to dreaming a world of pleasant dreams. She was leaning back against the wagon-seat, with her face upturned, to watch the leaves flutter in the distant forest-top, when Mr. Surly reined up suddenly, and the wagon stopped with a jerk. "I declare!" said Mr. Guy Hallam. "Waal, this is sum'at of a fix neow," said Mr. Surly, climbing out over the wheel. "What's the matter?" asked Gypsy and Sarah, in one breath, jumping up to see.