“Well, stay and see your old view; I’m going to get to the top first,” Peanut answered. “Where are we going to camp, Mr. Rogers?” “Back here, I guess. There’s a good spring just over the edge below. We’ll go to the south peak, and then come back.” Peanut dumped off his pack into the bushes, kneeled down and took out the flag and his firecrackers, and then slipped over the brow and disappeared rapidly along the path which led across the saddle to the south peak. The rest waited till Art had put some dehydrated spinach to soak in a kettle, and then followed more slowly, seeing nothing of Peanut, for the path wound amid the stunted spruces which were just tall enough to out-top a man. They went down a considerable incline, and found two or three hundred feet of fresh climbing ahead of them when they reached the base of the south cone. They were scrambling up through the spruces when suddenly from the summit they heard a report--then a second--a third--a fourth--then the rapid musketry of a whole bunch of cannon crackers. It sounded odd far up here in the silence, and not very loud. The great spaces of air seemed to absorb the sound. When they reached the top, Peanut had stripped a spruce of all branches, and tied the flag to the top. It was whipping out in the breeze. As the first boy’s head appeared in sight, he touched off his last bunch of crackers, and, taking off his hat, cried, “Ladies and gentlemen, salute your flag in honor of the Independence of these United States of America, and the Boy Scouts of Southmead, Massachusetts!” “Peanut’s making a Fourth of July oration,” Frank called down to the rest. Rob laughed. “From the granite hills of New Hampshire to the sun-kissed shores of the golden Pacific,” he declaimed, “from the Arctic circle to the Rio Grande, the dear old stars and stripes shall wave--” “Shut up,” said Lou. “This place ain’t the spot to make fun of the flag in. I say we all just take off our hats and salute it, here on top of this mountain!” Lou spoke seriously. Peanut, who was always quick to take a suggestion, instantly acquiesced. “Sure,” he said. “Lou’s right. Hats off to the flag on the Fourth of July!” The five Scouts and Mr. Rogers stood on the rock by the improvised flagstaff, and saluted in silence. Then the Scout Master said quietly, “We can see from here a good deal of the United States, can’t we? We can see the granite hills of New Hampshire, all right. We can realize the job it was for our ancestors to conquer this country from the wilderness and the Indians, to put roads and railways through these hills. I guess we ought to be pretty proud of the old flag.” The boys put on their hats again, and Frank took a picture of them, gathered around the flag. Then Peanut let out a pent-up whoop. “Never celebrated the Fourth like this before!” he cried. “Golly, but Moosilauke looks big from here!”