"
"Loss of what?" cried the Friend, as he whipped up his halting
steed.
"Loss of self-respect. I feel humiliated that I consented to climb
this mountain."
"Nonsense! You'll live to thank me for it, as the best thing you
ever did. It's over and done now, and you've got it to tell your
friends."
"That's just the trouble. They'll ask me if I went up Mitchell, and
I shall have to say I did. My character for consistency is gone.
Not that I care much what they think, but my own self-respect is
gone. I never believed I would do it. A man ca'nt afford to lower
himself in his own esteem, at my time of life."
The Widow Patten's was only an advanced settlement in this narrow
valley on the mountain-side, but a little group of buildings, a
fence, and a gate gave it the air of a place, and it had once been
better cared for than it is now. Few travelers pass that way, and
the art of entertaining, if it ever existed, is fallen into
desuetude. We unsaddled at the veranda, and sat down to review our
adventure, make the acquaintance of the family, and hear the last
story from Big Tom. The mountaineer, though wet, was as fresh as a
daisy, and fatigue in no wise checked the easy, cheerful flow of his
talk.
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