Nowhere in America is there a lovelier picture than these meadow-lands, seen from the top of this mountain which overhangs them.

The mountain is only about twenty-five hundred feet high: therefore, one loses no smallest shade of color in the view; even the difference between the green of broom-corn and clover records itself to the eye looking down from the mountain-top.

As far as one can see to northward the valley stretches in bands and belts and spaces of varied tints of green.

The river winds through it in doubling curves, and looks from the height like a line of silver laid in loops on an enamelled surface.

To the east and the west rise the river terraces, higher and higher, becoming, at last, lofty and abrupt hills at the horizon.
When Parson Dorrance was introduced to Mercy, she was alone on a spur of rock which jutted out from the mountain-side and overhung the valley.