“That’s Jobildunk Ravine. Want to go down it with me, my young friend?” the man asked Peanut.
“Thanks--not till after supper,” Peanut grinned.
As they were on the east side of the summit, it quickly grew dark. The man led the way unerringly, however, along a level stretch of path beside the ravine, and presently plunged into the woods. They were now below timber line. In a few moments he halted.
Lou lighted the camp lantern, and the man showed them a spring, close to the path. “Plenty of dead wood on the trees--lower branches of those spruce,” he added. “Good-night, all!”
“Oh, stay and have supper with us!” cried all the Scouts together.
“Well, since you urge, I will,” said he. “Don’t make me cook, though. I’m a bad cook.”
“You sit down, and be company,” Peanut laughed.
The boys rather showed off in getting supper ready. Art made the fire pit and the fire, Peanut and Frank gathered wood, Rob brought water and fixed up the props and cross-bar to swing the kettle from, and then cleared out a space for sleeping, cutting spruce boughs for the bed. Lou, meanwhile, got out enough food for the meal, and began to mix the flapjack dough. Mr. Rogers, like the stranger, was not allowed to do any work.
“Well, you’ve got five of the Gold Dust twins here, for sure!” the man laughed.
“They’re Boy Scouts, and used to making camp,” Mr. Rogers answered.
“They surely are used to it,” the man said. “I tell you, it’s a great movement that trains boys for the open like that!”
The Scouts, hearing this, redoubled their efforts, and bacon was sizzling, coffee boiling, flapjacks turning, in a very few moments more.
Supper was a merry meal. The fire was restocked with fresh wood after the cooking had been done, and blazed up, throwing reflections into the trees overhead and quite paling the light of Lou’s lantern, which swung from a branch. Their new friend joked and laughed, and enjoyed every mouthful. When supper was over, he pulled several cakes of sweet chocolate out of his pocket, and divided them for dessert. “Always carry it,” he said. “Raisins and sweet chocolate--that makes a meal for me any time. Don’t have to cook it, either.”
He sat with his back against a tree after the meal, and told stories of the mountain. “I used to tramp over all these hills every vacation,” he said, “and many a good time I’ve had, and many a hard time, too, on Washington, especially. I was caught in a snow-storm one June on the Crawford Bridle Path and nearly froze before I got to the Mt. Pleasant Path down. The wind was blowing a hundred miles an hour, at least, and went right through me. I couldn’t see twenty feet ahead, either. Luckily, I had a compass, and by keeping the top of the ridge, I found the path without having to take a chance on descending through the woods. But nowadays, I’m getting old, and this fellow Moosilauke is more to my liking. A big, roomy, comfortable mountain, Moosilauke, with a bed waiting for you at the top, and plenty to see. Why, he’s just like a brother to me! I keep a picture of him in my room in New York to look at winters, just as you” (he turned to Rob) “keep a picture of your best girl on your bureau.”