I stared at him for a second, then attempted to strike him. He dodged wearily and repeated his incredible remark: "Ya-as, there is--wimmen--two female ladies onto them there mules." "Bring me my glasses!" I said, hoarsely; "bring me those glasses, William, because I shall destroy you if you don't!" Somewhat awed by my calm fury, he hastened back to camp and returned with the binoculars. It was a breathless moment. I adjusted the lenses with a steady hand and raised them. Now, of all unexpected sights my fate may reserve for me in the future, I trust--nay, I know--that none can ever prove as unwelcome as the sight I perceived through my binoculars. For upon the backs of those distant mules were two women, and the first one was Miss Smawl! Upon her head she wore a helmet, from which fluttered a green veil. Otherwise she was clothed in tweeds; and at moments she beat upon her mule with a thick umbrella. Surfeited with the sickening spectacle, I sat down on a rock and tried to cry. "I told yer so," observed William; but I was too tired to attack him. When the caravan rode into camp I was myself again, smilingly prepared for the worst, and I advanced, cap in hand, followed furtively by William. "Welcome," I said, violently injecting joy into my voice. "Welcome, Professor Smawl, to the Hudson Mountains!" "Kindly take my mule," she said, climbing down to mother earth. "William," I said, with dignity, "take the lady's mule." Miss Smawl gave me a stolid glance, then made directly for the camp-fire, where a kettle of game-broth simmered over the coals. The last I saw of her she was smelling of it, and I turned my back and advanced towards the second lady pilgrim, prepared to be civil until snubbed. Now, it is quite certain that never before had William Spike or I beheld so much feminine loveliness in one human body on the back of a mule. She was clad in the daintiest of shooting-kilts, yet there was nothing mannish about her except the way she rode the mule, and that only accentuated her adorable femininity. I remembered what Professor Lesard had said about blue stockings--but Miss Dorothy Van Twiller's were gray, turned over at the tops, and disappearing into canvas spats buckled across a pair of slim shooting-boots. "Welcome," said I, attempting to restrain a too violent cordiality. "Welcome, Professor Van Twiller, to the Hudson Mountains." "Thank you," she replied, accepting my assistance very sweetly; "it is a pleasure to meet a human being again." I glanced at Miss Smawl. She was eating game-broth, but she resembled a human being in a general way. "I should very much like to wash my hands," said Professor Van Twiller, drawing the buckskin gloves from her slim fingers. I brought towels and soap and conducted her to the brook. She called to Professor Smawl to join her, and her voice was crystalline; Professor Smawl declined, and her voice was batrachian.