_The clouds came out of their homes to see us; They had heard of us and had seen us from afar, Now they could satisfy their curiosity And find out just exactly who we were. So they gave us of their hospitality, Inviting us both to their mountain abode. Mr. and Mrs. Glacier were at home--a chilly couple, So were the impulsive avalanches, a family of long descent And purest origin. The visitors were mostly ladies of the upper strata of society Most æsthetically gowned. They came about us, asked us various questions, Conventional questions about the weather. Some new ones came, others drifted away. We were left by ourselves at the last. The clouds didn’t altogether like our style, Our form wasn’t theirs, We were obviously parvenus, Nature’s profiteers, Living not on our income but by our output. The Peaks, their husbands, with their patrimonies, Were certainly less clever and more stodgy, But we were clear outsiders, people of a lowly birth, Not altogether possible, they judged. So the clouds’ curiosity regarding us abated, We felt pretty chilly towards the end of the party. They offered us no tea, though we each had an ice on a wafer. Proud, supercilious, overweening ladies!_ [Illustration: IF YOU’RE MY FRIEND YOU’RE GREAT] XXVI. LINDSAY ON ROOSEVELT WE decided to change our direction and make for the camp at the head of Lake McDermot. This we could hope to reach by nightfall, as it was downhill all the way. It was moreover a right-hand descent and suited me well. In an hour of diving and plunging downward we got out of the clouds and saw that there was fine weather away to the East. We had moreover found a foot-trail, and, “Bless de Lo’d I’se found de way,” cried Vachel. Downward, downward to the low pines, to the large pines, to the giant pines--how easy it was to go down. I thought we should have little difficulty in getting to the little log-cabins of the camp, and sleep dry for once. It was now ten days since we had last had a roof over our heads. The prospect was pleasant; we thought of the hot supper awaiting us. We thought of the drying of our clothes and our blankets, and of a gentle sweet repose of our tumbled and jolted bodies between white sheets. The descent, however, suited Vachel as badly as the ascent had suited me. As a short-legged man he had to take three steps to my one, and he constantly serenaded me through the evening air--“Steeven ... wait a minute! Little Vachel’s lonesome!” I would stop, he would draw level. “Now wait a minute,” he would say. “Let’s look back! What a wonderful view! Isn’t it a wonderful view? Let’s sit here awhile and take it in--a _wonderful_ view!” Or he would let me go on a bit and then stop me. “Stee-ven, look at the pine-tree, look at the giant tree, giant of the forest, look what a _great_ giant! Let’s sit down and take it all in!”