Then she might have been such a girl as Sarah Rowe, who would have suffered agonies of fright at waking to find herself in such a place.

But she had been led to the quiet, familiar Basin, and no harm had come to her, and she had good strong nerves, and lost all her fear in five minutes, so that the mischance would end only in an exciting adventure, which would give her something to talk about as long as she lived.
Well; she was sure she was very thankful to--whom?
and Gypsy bowed her head a little at the question, and she sat a moment very still.
Then she had other thoughts.

She looked up at the shadowed mountains, and thought how year after year, summer and winter, day and night, those terrible masses of rock had cleaved together, and stood still, and caught the rains and the snows and vapors, the golden crowns of sunsets and sunrisings, the cooling winds and mellow moonlights, and done all their work of beauty and of use, and done it aright.

_"Not one faileth."_ No avalanche had thundered down their sides, destroying such happy homes as hers.

No volcanic fires had torn them into seething lava.