Green grassy valleys stretched away from openings in the rocky coast until they were lost in the distant mountains; the rounded bluffs were covered with clumps of yellow birch and thickets of dark-green chaparral; patches of flowers could be seen on the warm sheltered slopes of the hills; and as we passed close under the lighthouse bluff, Bush shouted joyously, "Hurrah, there's clover!"
hurrah for our Jack and Cuffy; aren't they the boss dogs!"
"Hurrah for Solitude!" "Why, Mr. Powell, you are a real poet," said one of the girls gravely.
"Hurrah for Dick Rover!" "Say, wasn't that a dandy run?"