The rugged crags on either side were thickly covered with a forest of fir and larch, and here and there a taller stone-pine reared its darker head above the silvery green.

Dashing, roaring, leaping, shouting, the water poured down in a never-ceasing volume: the white spray rose up in clouds, wetting the girls' faces; the sound was like an endless chorus of hallelujahs.
"Porth Powys is in fine form to-day.

There must have been rain up in the mountains last night," remarked Ulyth.

"What do you think of it, Rona ?" "It's a champion! I'm going to climb down there and get at the edge." "No, you won't!" said Miss Moseley sharply.

"Nobody is to go a single step nearer.