though somebody was pushing it from underneath, and as it got up and cast its rays across the Notch to their feet, Lafayette looked like a huge island of rock above a white sea of vapor. This vapor rolled up and blew away as they were eating breakfast. The morning was fine and clear. Mr. Rogers pointed toward Moosilauke. "That's where we'll be at night," he said.
"It doesn't look possible!" said Lou.
"It won't be, if we don't start," said Art. "Got your flag, Peanut, or did you leave it on the south peak?"
"I got it, all right," Peanut replied. "Are we ready? How far is it, Mr. Rogers?"
"Hm—four miles down this mountain,—ten to the base of Moosilauke—five miles up—nineteen miles."
"A pickle," said Peanut, and pack on back he plunged over the summit, and down the path into the spruces, the rest trailing behind.
"Go after him, Rob," said the Scout Master, "and hold him back. He'll tire his front leg muscles all out, if he doesn't break his neck."
Rob went, and held Peanut by main force till the rest came up.
"You couldn't have held me," cried Peanut, "if I hadn't wanted to say that we could go down easier with poles. We ought to have brought our poles. What can we cut for 'em?"
