“They called the whole Presidential range, or perhaps the whole White Mountains by the name Agiocochook,” the man answered. “I’m afraid my knowledge ceases there. Our forefathers didn’t make any special effort to learn what the Indians did call things, or to respect their names any more than their lands. Certainly we’ve done badly in our naming. Clay, for instance, and Franklin, were never Presidents, yet their names are given to two peaks in the Presidential range; and Mount Pleasant isn’t even named after a statesman. I agree with our young friend here, and like better the names of the Sandwich range to the south, Chocorua, Passaconaway, Bald Face. Those are either Indian names, or are suggestive of the appearance of the mountain.” “Right-o,” said Peanut. It was now dark outside, and clear and cold. The Scouts went out into the windy starlight, and looked far down into the valley to the north, where the lights of a small town glittered, and filled their lungs with the bracing, fresh air. Then they one and all turned in, and though the two new arrivals were talking with the caretaker of the hut, it wasn’t five minutes before all six were fast asleep. CHAPTER XVIII THROUGH KING’S RAVINE AND HOME AGAIN Art was not the first one up in the morning. When he opened his eyes, he saw the caretaker of the hut moving about the stove. Nobody else was astir in the Scouts’ party, but through the open door Art saw the two men who had arrived the previous evening standing on the rocks, looking off. It was full daylight! Art climbed hastily down out of his bunk and shook Peanut. “Lemme ’lone! I got to climb this rock!” said Peanut. “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve got to get up!” laughed Art. “Whaz ’at?” said Peanut. Then he opened his eyes, stared into Art’s face, and added, “Hello! Why, I’m awake!” Meanwhile, the others had waked, also. Rob looked at his watch. “Six o’clock!” he exclaimed. “That’s what comes of sleeping in bunks. All up, and have a look at the weather!” The weather seemed propitious. The north peaks were all out, and the great shoulder of Chandler Ridge on Washington, across the white mists which filled the Great Gulf, looked like a stone peninsula thrusting out into a foamy sea. There was only a slight wind, and the sun was pleasantly warm already. “How’s the grub holding out?” asked Mr. Rogers. “If we have breakfast cooked for us inside, it will cost us something. Have we enough left for breakfast and lunch? We’ll have to get supper on the train.” “Train! Gee whiz, I don’t want to go home! Let’s stay another week,” said Frank. “That’s the talk!” Peanut cried. “Let’s go down in the Great Gulf and get some trout, and live on them.” “I’ll shoot a bear with a bow and arrow,” Art added. “We’ll need the meat, too, for we’ve not got more than enough for one good meal--except vegetables. We’ve got a lot of spinach left, ’cause we’ve hardly ever stayed anywhere long enough to soak it, unless we’d had it for breakfast.”