“Talking, we say. You get it real still down here sometimes in the valley, and way up on top there, if you listen sharp, you can hear the wind rushing through the trees. Then we look out for bad weather.” “That’s a funny way to put it,” Lou mused. “It makes the mountains seem sort of human.” “Well, you get to know ’em pretty well, living under ’em all the time, that’s a fact,” the man answered. “A good sleep to you.” “Good-night,” called the Scouts, as he disappeared. As soon as the supper things were washed, they were ready for bed, curling up in their blankets around the fire, for it was chilly here, even though it was the night before the Fourth--a fact Peanut quite forgot till he had rolled himself all up for the night. He crawled out again, set off a couple of firecrackers, and came back to bed. “Gee, this is the stillest night before _I_ ever saw!” he exclaimed. “It _would_ be, if you’d shut up,” grunted Art, sleepily. The next morning Art, as always, was the first up. He rose from his blanket, aware that it was dawn, and rubbed his eyes. Where was the dim black wall of the mountain which had gone up against the stars the night before? He ran out of the grove into a clear space and gazed up Copper Mine Brook into a white wall of cloud. Back the other way, he saw that the narrow valley in which they were was hung along the surface with white mist, as the water of the Lake of the Dismal Swamp used to be; and the western hills beyond it were in cloud. Yet overhead the dawn sky appeared to be blue. “Guess we’re in for a bad day,” he muttered, peeling off his clothes and tumbling into the shallow, swift waters of the brook. He emitted a loud “Wow!” as he fell into the deepest pool he could find. Was this ice water? He got out again as quickly as possible, and began hopping up and down to dry himself, his body pink with the reaction. His “Wow!” had wakened the camp, and the rest were soon beside him. “How’s the water?” asked Peanut. “Fine!” said Art, winking at Mr. Rogers. Peanut, without a word, rolled over the bank. His “Wow!” sounded like a wildcat in distress. “Cold?” asked Rob. “Oh, n-n-no,” said Peanut emerging with chattering teeth. “W-w-warm as t-t-t-toast.” The rest decided to cut out the morning bath, in spite of Art’s jeers. Even Mr. Rogers balked at ice water. They were all looking, with much disappointment, at the cloud-covered mountain above them. “Wait a bit,” said the Scout Master. “This is going to be a fine day--you’ll see.” Even as they were going back to camp for breakfast, the hills to the west, touched now with the sun, began to emerge from the mist, or rather the mist seemed to roll up their sides like the curtain at a play. By the time breakfast was over, the sun had appeared over Cannon, and the clouds had mysteriously vanished into a few thin shreds of vapor, like veils far up in the tree tops. It was a splendid day. “Well, I’ll be switched!” said Art.