They emerged from the dark ravine, and gazed on the fair valley opening before them, with a keen sense of relief which showed itself in a renewed chorus of happy, thoughtless talk and laughter. Once they sprang aside, and stood in a gay-colored group against the embankment, to let the nine o’clock Portland train pass. Then they went on, more merrily than ever, the girls gathering clusters of brilliant golden-rod and purple asters for their hats and belts. It was Fred who discovered a single blue violet blossoming serenely and cheerfully at that late day directly between the iron rails, and with all the desolateness of Mount Willard stretching up into the sky above it. Lou took the offered flower without a word, and—wished it had been golden-rod. “Isn’t there _any_ manliness about him?” she thought fretfully. “That was just like a girl. I believe I’m more a boy than he is, now!” She saved the violet, however, and tucked it away carefully, where it could not be injured or lost. About a mile below the Notch, a small house stood beside the track, occupied by a young married couple and their two children, who were held up to the open window to look at the strangers. Fred handed in a spray of asters to the baby, and the bashful little mother took them with a nod and a pleased expression in her face. Lou had started to do the same thing, but drew back sharply, vexed again, when she saw Fred step forward with his flowers. The woman, however, had noticed her movement, and after a moment’s hesitation beckoned to the girl. Lou was by this time some distance down the track, and shook her head, pleasantly enough; for, however much out of sorts, she rarely forgot herself so far as to be really rude to any one. The woman seemed anxious, as Lou was about to join her party, and leaned out of the window, pointing up the track and making gestures which were quite incomprehensible. But Lou was in no mood for trifling or lingering. She gave the baby a parting wave of her hand, and ran off after the rest, who had not noticed this little episode. Fred Seacomb was just in front, provokingly unconscious of her unfavorable opinion, and—what? yes, actually racing with one of the girls! Well, the morning was so bright, and Lou’s own nature so like it, that the clouds soon blew away, and she was one of the merriest of the party as they drew near the agreed limit of their excursion. The sun was well up over the mountains when they reached the upper end of the trestle-bridge which spans the deep chasm of Willey Brook. It was an uncanny sort of place, and as the girls crept up to the edge and looked down at the jagged bowlders eighty feet below, they shuddered and shrank back, with their hands over their eyes. One or two proposed starting for home at once, and the whole party probably would have begun the homeward march, had not one of the boys in an unlucky moment remarked in a loud whisper to his neighbor: “’Twould be just like Lou Elwin to propose to go across.”