But I looked at the passionate mountains first, to be sure of no more violence; for if a burned child dreads the fire, one half drowned may be excused for little faith in water.

The mountains in the sunshine looked as if nothing could move their grandeur, and so I stepped from stone to stone, in the bed of the placid brightness.
Presently I came to a place where one of the great black piles, driven in by order of the Sawyer, to serve as a back-stay for his walls, had been swept by the flood from its vertical sinking, but had not been swept away.

The square tarred post of mountain pine reclined down stream, and gently nodded to the current's impact.

But overthrown as it was, it could not make its exit and float away, as all its brethren had done.

At this I had wondered before, and now I went to see what the reason was.