“Jobildunk,” the man answered. “It is a big ravine discovered by three men, named Joe, Bill and Duncan. So they made a portmanteau word, and named it Jo-bil-dunc after all three. The ‘k’ got put on later, I suppose. Come on out of this hot room, you chaps, and see my playground.” “I like him,” whispered Rob as they followed him through the door. He was a small man, but they soon found he was tremendously active. In front of the hotel was a road. The summit of Moosilauke is about a mile long, nearly level, but highest on the north end, where the hotel is. This road ran all the way along the summit, to the southern end, where it vanished around the little south peak. It was a crushed stone road, all right, for there was nothing but stones to make it of. It was just a white ribbon, winding amid the gray boulders and mountain cranberry plants. The man led the way rapidly down it, and the tired boys had all they could do to keep up. Half a mile from the Summit House he stopped, leaped on a boulder beside the road, and pointed back. “Here’s my favorite view,” he said. “The little gray Summit House away up there at the end of the white road, against the sky, the white road running the other way down toward the valley world, and all off there to the west, just space and sunset!” It was pretty fine. The sun was now descending into the western cloud bank, and turning the clouds to rose and gold. It looked hundreds of miles away. “Do those clouds mean rain?” asked Art. “Nary a drop,” said the man. “Hello!--here’s an _Argynnis atlantis_!” He made a mad dive with his hat, put it quickly over a low plant, and drew from under a beautiful butterfly, all gold and silver, with a black border around the wings. “The small mountain fritillary,” he said. “Often comes up here, but shouldn’t be here with the wind so strong. What I’m looking for really is an _Oeneis semidea_, an arctic butterfly which they say is found only on Mount Washington. He’s gray, like the rocks. Looks like a two inch piece of lichen. Haven’t found one yet, though. You watch this fritillary follow the road down the mountain, now.” He let the butterfly go, and sure enough, it started down the road, flying not more than three feet above the ground, and as long as the boys could watch it, it was keeping to every turn and twist. “He knows the way down!” laughed the man. “And he knows he has no business up here when it’s so cold, with night coming on. He’ll get down, though, at that rate. “And now, boys,” continued this odd man, “you be as wise as the butterfly! Back to the hotel, shoulder packs, and to your camp!” He led the way again up the road. He walked so fast that the five boys and Mr. Rogers were all panting. But he himself was not out of breath in the least. He laughed at Peanut. “Anyhow, I get my wind good in a month up here,” he said, “even if it is ‘slow’ and I’m old enough to be your grandfather!” “You’ve not walked nineteen miles to-day,” said Peanut.