“You couldn’t have held me,” cried Peanut, “if I hadn’t wanted to say that we could go down easier with poles. We ought to have brought our poles. What can we cut for ’em?” “Moose wood,” said Art. “I saw moose wood a bit further down, as we came up.” So the party plunged on, finding the steep descent quick work, the chief difficulty being not to go too fast. At the first sign of moose wood, Art gave a cry, and soon the whole party had cut staves six feet long. “I’m going to leave this pretty green and white bark on mine, and cut my initials in it to-night,” Lou announced. “A good idea,” the rest agreed. Shouldering their packs again, they put out the staves ahead of them, threw their weight forward, and with this assistance descended with even greater rapidity and much more safety. They stopped in the Flume only long enough for a drink, and again plunged down. As they came out into the level pasture near the base, Peanut slowed down. “Wow,” he said, wiping his forehead, “that looks easy, but you really work awful hard holding in!” “You’ll know you’ve worked about to-morrow,” Mr. Rogers laughed. They made the four miles to the road in a little over half an hour, which, as Art said, is “going some.” It was less than eight o’clock when they faced the ten miles of road to Moosilauke. The first thing to attract particular attention was the village of Easton, through which they passed half an hour later. Of the half dozen houses in the village, two were quite abandoned. There was a tiny store, and a small sawmill, and that was all. Beyond the village they passed an abandoned church. Then followed two or three small houses, also abandoned, and then nothing but the narrow, sandy road, winding through woods and fields, with Kinsman growing farther behind them on the left, and Moosilauke nearer straight ahead. They went for more than an hour without meeting a single wagon or motor, and after they left Easton they did not see a human being. “Pretty lively little road, this,” said Peanut. “Makes you think of Broadway, New York,” laughed Rob. “Look!” said Lou. “Moosilauke isn’t blue any longer. You can see the green of the forest.” “You can see what _was_ a forest,” said Mr. Rogers. “The paper company have stripped it.” “Why paper?” asked Peanut. “Why paper!” Art sniffed. “You poor boob, don’t you know that paper is made out of wood pulp?” “I thought it was made out of old rags,” Peanut answered. “It is,” said Rob. “Well--what----” Everybody laughed. “Newspaper is made of wood pulp--spruce and balsam almost entirely,” said the Scout Master, taking pity on Peanut. “Linen paper, such as the kind you write letters on, is made out of linen rags. The newspapers use up so much paper for their great Sunday editions, especially, that they are really doing almost more to strip the forests than the lumbermen, because they don’t even have to wait till the trees get good sized.”