moss, back to the flowing, misty beauty far below him.
He comes to the point where the Cliff-path crosses the Thoreau trail which leads up from the house on the other or west side of the ridge. High in front looms the brown mass known as Emerson Seat and just below it the other which is called Thoreau Rock. He could turn across here and he would drop down to the house in ten minutes for all this previous sauntering has been like taking the two long sides of a very acute-angled triangle. But though it is getting towards supper time and an unromantic mountain appetite assails him, he is not quite ready to turn back yet. He takes the Thoreau trail for a short distance across the valley of the ridge, then turns sharply to his right and up the little crevasse in the steep, bald rock; across this he goes and into the woods at the Chipmunk-trail—but not along its whole distance which would lead him too far this evening. Instead he scrambles down the swift descent
