Peanut dropped his hatchet and slipped down over the rocks to a spot where the trees were as Mr. Rogers had described. He tried to press through, and failed. Then he just scrambled out on top of them, and tried to walk. With every step he half disappeared from sight, while the rest looked on, laughing. After a few steps, he came back. His hands and face were scratched, and there was a tear in his trousers. “Excuse _me_!” he cried. “Gee, the Dismal Swamp has nothing on those mountain spruces! Golly, I begin to admire the man who made this path up here!” The spruce boughs were so tough, in fact, that only the tips could be used for bedding, and the boys had to trim the branches with their knives to make their bunks on the ground. The camp-fire was built of dead spruce, with some live stumps added, and a kettle of water kept beside it lest a spark ignite the trees close by. Night had come on before supper was ready, and with the coming of night it grew cold, colder than the boys had guessed it could be in July. They put on their sweaters, which, all day, they had been complaining about as extra weight, and they kept close to the fire while Art, with the skill of a juggler, tossed the flapjacks from one side to the other in his fry pan, catching them neatly as they came down. The wind rose higher, and began to moan through the spruces. Far below them was the great black hole of the Notch--just a yawning pit with no bottom. Beyond it the shadowy bulk of Lafayette, Lincoln, Haystack and Liberty loomed up against the starry sky. From this side, not a single light was visible anywhere in the universe. The boys ate their supper almost in silence. “Gee, this is lonely!” Peanut suddenly blurted out. “I’m going where I can see a light.” He got up and climbed to the summit again, followed by all the others except Lou. They could look westward from the peak, and see the lamps in the houses down in the valley, and the blazing lights of the big hotel on Sugar Hill, and even the street lights in Franconia village. “There _is_ somebody else in the world!” cried Peanut. “Glad of that. I was beginning to think there wasn’t.” Just as he spoke, a rocket suddenly went up from Sugar Hill, and burst in the air. It was followed by another, and another. The boys yelled at Lou to come and see the fireworks. “Oh, dear,” sighed Peanut, “why didn’t I bring a rocket--just _one_ would be better’n none. Wouldn’t it be some sight for the folks down there to see it going up from the top of this old mountain, eh?” “That _would_ be some celebration, O. K.,” Art cried. “My, let’s come again next year and do it!” Lou slipped back to camp presently, and Mr. Rogers, returning before the rest, found him sitting on a rock overlooking the black pit of the Notch, gazing out into space. “What is it, Lou?” he said. “A penny for your thoughts.”