Sure enough, as they looked back, they saw the white mist rising from Pinkham Notch, sucking in through Tuckerman’s Ravine, and seeming to follow them up the path. Already a wisp was curling over Boott Spur and drifting slowly across the lawn. “Ding it!” cried Peanut, “is it never clear on this old mountain? I’m getting so I hate clouds. This path is none too easy to find as it is.” “Well, let’s keep ahead of the giant, then,” Mr. Rogers said. They walked on more rapidly, noting that the wind was actually from the north, a gentle breeze, just strong enough to hold the rising vapors back and let them keep ahead. Presently their path crossed a dim trail which seemed to come from Boott Spur and lead northeastward toward the Chandler Ridge. It was the Six Husbands’ Trail. “Hooray, here’s old Six Husbands,” cried Peanut. “I sure want to go over it, and also know where it got its name.” “Where does it go to, anyhow?” somebody else asked. They stopped for a moment to trace the trail on the map, finding that it started at Boott Spur, skirted the cone of Washington on the south and east, dipped into the bottom of the Great Gulf, and ascended the shoulder of Jefferson, ending on the peak of that mountain. “The last two miles up Jefferson must be some climb!” Art cried, looking at the contour intervals--“right up like the wall of a house!” “Let’s take it!” shouted Peanut. “Perhaps we can take it, out of the Gulf,” Mr. Rogers answered. “But now we’ve got to get to the Tip Top House. Don’t you want your copies of _Above the Clouds_?” “Gosh, I’d forgotten them,” said Peanut. They resumed the climb, and were soon traveling more slowly, up the steep summit cone. They could not see the top, and they could see nothing below them because of the following mists. The path was merely a dim trail amid the wild, piled up confusion of broken rocks. Before they reached the end of it too, the clouds had reached them, and they made the last few hundred yards enveloped in the giant’s bedclothes. “Bet he was damp in ’em, too,” said Peanut. The coach house and barn burst upon them suddenly, out of the fog. The boys rushed at once up the steps to the Tip Top House, secured their copies of _Above the Clouds_, and read Rob’s account of the storm, which the editor had cut down till it was only half what Rob had written, much to everybody’s indignation. While they were reading the paper, buying sweet chocolate and sending post-cards home, the clouds thinned out on the summit, and when, at eight o’clock, they again stepped out-of-doors, there seemed to be every prospect of a splendid day, with a gentle northerly wind to cool the air.