finally arrived. All the party but Frank scrambled up on a slippery boulder, drenched with spray, beside the falls, and Frank mounted his tripod and took them, having to use a time exposure, as there was no sun down under the precipice.
"Now, let's get to the top of the falls!" cried Peanut. "Is there a path?"
"Yes, there's a path, but it's roundabout, and we haven't time," the Scout Master answered.
"Ho, we don't need a path, I guess," Peanut added. "Just go right up those rocks over there, clinging to the little hemlocks."
He jumped across the brook from boulder to boulder, and started to scramble up the precipice, on what looked like rocks covered with mossy soil and young trees. He got about six feet, when all the soil came off under his feet, the little tree he was hanging to came off on top of him, and he descended in a shower of mould, moss, mud and evergreen.
"Guess again, Peanut," the Scout Master laughed, when he saw the boy rise, unhurt. "You can't climb safely over wet moss, you know—or you didn't know."
"I guess you're right," said Peanut, ruefully regarding the precipice. "But I did want to get up there."
"Forward march for Kinsman, I say," Art put in. "That's the business of the day."
