our fate was the same now. We waited an hour on the bank, encouraged by the gleams of sunlight that now and again appeared. Tantalizing glimpses of snowy peaks hovered before our eyes and in a second disappeared again. After several fruitless attempts at a photograph, we decided it was hopeless to expect the weather to clear, so we forded the river, which was no higher than on our forward journey, and made all haste for Scott's. Everything went well to within three miles of our destination; we were cantering along in single file, Mr. Frind some way ahead, then Graham, and lastly myself. Suddenly Graham's horse put his foot in a rabbit hole, lurched forward, and rolled over an embankment at the side of the road, and lay still among the ferns. Graham was pinioned beneath him by one leg. I was off as soon as the horse went down, but Mr. Frind, hearing nothing, went on unconcernedly. "Shall I sit on his head?" I asked, knowing this was the correct thing to do to prevent a horse from rising, but not particularly anxious to try the experiment in person. However, I was told to stand aside, and gingerly Graham managed to worm himself out of his uncomfortable position; the horse never made the slightest attempt to rise till we pulled him up by the bridle. That neither horse nor man was badly hurt was a marvel, as an ice-axe was dangling from each side of the swag, and either might have made a nasty wound. Graham's chief concern seemed to be that he was covered from head to heel with burrs, so Mr. Frind and I did our best to scrape him down with our pocket-knives; it took some time. Suddenly Graham looked at me and began to laugh, and on my inquiring why, he turned to Mr. Frind and said, "She was off her horse before you could say 'knife' and asking, 'Shall I sit on his head.?'" and they both proceeded to laugh immoderately. Slightly mystified, I inquired what was wrong with my proceeding. Should I have wept or fainted? They
