There were drawbacks, however, to this
marvellous scene. There were not a few branches already broken from the
trees, and Mr. Clifford said that if the wind rose the weight of the ice
would cause great destruction. They all hastened through breakfast, Leonard
and Webb that they might relieve the more valuable fruit and evergreen
trees of the weight of ice, and Burt and Amy for a drive up the mountain.
As they slowly ascended, the scene under the increasing sunlight took on
every moment more strange and magical effects. The ice-incased twigs and
boughs acted as prisms, and reflected every hue of the rainbow, and as
they approached the summit the feathery frost-work grew more and more
exquisitely delicate and beautiful, and yet it was proving to be as
evanescent as a dream, for in all sunny place it was already vanishing.
They had scarcely passed beyond the second summit when Burt uttered an
exclamation of regretful disgust. "By all that's unlucky," he cried, "if
there isn't an eagle sitting on yonder ledge! I could kill him with
bird-shot, and I haven't even a popgun with me."
"It's too bad," sympathized Amy. "Let us drive as near as we can, and get
a good view before he flies."
To their great surprise, he did not move as they approached, but only
glared at them with his savage eye.
"Well," said Burt, "after trying for hours to get within rifle range,
this exceeds anything I ever saw. I wonder if he is wounded and cannot
fly.
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