Explore "A Romany of the Snows, Volume 3" by Gilbert Parker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Fingall! Fingall! -- Oh, Fingall!"
A grey mist was rising from the river, the sun was drinking it delightedly, the swift blue water showed underneath it, and the top of Whitefaced Mountain peaked the mist by a hand-length. The river brushed the banks like rustling silk, and the only other sound, very sharp and clear in the liquid monotone, was the crack of a woodpecker's beak on a hickory tree.