“No, but I’ve walked sixteen,” the man replied. “I’ve been down nearly to North Woodstock and back, by the Beaver Brook Trail. You’ll know what I mean when you see that trail.” Peanut was silent. At the Summit House the boys bought some post-cards showing the view from the top, Frank took a picture of the sunset, to label “Moonlight from Moosilauke,” and they all picked up their packs and followed their new leader. He took them back over the path they had come up for a few hundred feet, and suddenly plunged sharp to the east. They began at once to go down. Soon the path skirted the edge of a great gorge, which was like a gigantic piece of pie cut out of the mountainside, with the point toward them. The sides were almost precipitous, and covered with dense spruce. “That’s Jobildunk Ravine. Want to go down it with me, my young friend?” the man asked Peanut. “Thanks--not till after supper,” Peanut grinned. As they were on the east side of the summit, it quickly grew dark. The man led the way unerringly, however, along a level stretch of path beside the ravine, and presently plunged into the woods. They were now below timber line. In a few moments he halted. “Got a lantern?” he said. Lou lighted the camp lantern, and the man showed them a spring, close to the path. “Plenty of dead wood on the trees--lower branches of those spruce,” he added. “Good-night, all!” “Oh, stay and have supper with us!” cried all the Scouts together. “Well, since you urge, I will,” said he. “Don’t make me cook, though. I’m a bad cook.” “You sit down, and be company,” Peanut laughed. The boys rather showed off in getting supper ready. Art made the fire pit and the fire, Peanut and Frank gathered wood, Rob brought water and fixed up the props and cross-bar to swing the kettle from, and then cleared out a space for sleeping, cutting spruce boughs for the bed. Lou, meanwhile, got out enough food for the meal, and began to mix the flapjack dough. Mr. Rogers, like the stranger, was not allowed to do any work. “Well, you’ve got five of the Gold Dust twins here, for sure!” the man laughed. “They’re Boy Scouts, and used to making camp,” Mr. Rogers answered. “They surely are used to it,” the man said. “I tell you, it’s a great movement that trains boys for the open like that!” The Scouts, hearing this, redoubled their efforts, and bacon was sizzling, coffee boiling, flapjacks turning, in a very few moments more. Supper was a merry meal. The fire was restocked with fresh wood after the cooking had been done, and blazed up, throwing reflections into the trees overhead and quite paling the light of Lou’s lantern, which swung from a branch. Their new friend joked and laughed, and enjoyed every mouthful. When supper was over, he pulled several cakes of sweet chocolate out of his pocket, and divided them for dessert. “Always carry it,” he said. “Raisins and sweet chocolate--that makes a meal for me any time. Don’t have to cook it, either.”