The grass in the plains had changed from green to dull grey; the river had changed his hoarse roar for a sleepy murmur, as though too lazy to quarrel with his boulders in such weather.

A hot dull haze was over forest and mountain.

The snow had perspired till it showed long black streaks on the highest eminences.

In short, summer had come with a vengeance; every one felt hot, idle, and thirsty, and "there was nothing doing." Now that broad cool verandah of Captain Brentwood's, with its deep recesses of shadow, was a place not to be lightly spoken of.

Any man once getting footing there, and leaving it, except on compulsion, would show himself of weak mind.