At nine thirty that evening we were again treated to the same phenomenon by _Geysir_ and again at six the following morning. Three magnificent ejections at a cost of only ten dollars worth of soap. It was worth much more. The final display was the finest of the three and lasted ten minutes. We were dressing when the cry of “_Geysir!_” again reached the Inn. What did it matter that the toilet was not finished! Travellers from Denmark, Sweden, Norway, America, Germany and distant parts of Iceland were there to see _Geysir_ spout and not to be fastidious about coiffure and raiment. We all assembled hastily at the brink, each unconscious of the others’ presence until the display was over. Then! What a startled and confused company! Several were clad only in sleeping costumes, some had put on one stocking and were holding a shoe and a stocking in the hand, some dragged a skirt by the band and still others trailed their pantaloons by the suspenders. One man held his shirt by the sleeve and had one leg in his trousers while the other was innocent of all clothing. There were Icelandic matrons and maidens barefooted, some with a skirt wrapped around them and others with a sheet. Rows of discarded garments marked the way from the Inn to the mound and during the retreat, which was a blushing and precipitous one, each caught from the grass the clothes that had fallen during the advance. Ludicrous describes it well, but every one was happy and during the breakfast which followed the confusion was forgotten. Standing upon the rim of the great basin and gazing at the azure surface the peacefulness of the scene belies the turbulence of the hour before. In the distance _Láng Jökull_ glistens in the brilliant sunshine. Yonder, across the _Hvitá_, cloud-capped and snowy-mantled _Hekla_ rises grand and lonely above its lava-wasted plain. Around us the numerous springs and fumaroles emit their endless columns of vapor and _Strokr_ moans and groans. The little geyser which we packed with turf two nights ago has been spouting without interruption for two hours. What a contrast! Arctic ice and Plutonic fire battling for supremacy as they have done for ages in this land of strange confusion,—and still the conflict wages. Loth are we to turn from this manifestation of power and imposing grandeur of _Geysir_, even in his hours of rest, but _Gullfoss_ lies beyond the _Túngufljót_, the _Thjorsá_ and the _Ölfusá_ must be forded, _Hekla_ challenges from the midst of his desolation, the peaceful pastoral plains of the south are calling, the weird and frightful solfataras of _Krisuvik_ entice,—and we must saddle and away. CHAPTER IX GULLFOSS A mighty rift within the rock Rent ages since by earthquake shock, Where Hvitá’s frenzied stream Down plunges with the thunder’s roar Upon the canyon’s basalt floor ’Twixt walls of golden sheen, With rainbows arching over all,— It wins the name of _Golden Fall_.