He sat with his back against a tree after the meal, and told stories of the mountain. “I used to tramp over all these hills every vacation,” he said, “and many a good time I’ve had, and many a hard time, too, on Washington, especially. I was caught in a snow-storm one June on the Crawford Bridle Path and nearly froze before I got to the Mt. Pleasant Path down. The wind was blowing a hundred miles an hour, at least, and went right through me. I couldn’t see twenty feet ahead, either. Luckily, I had a compass, and by keeping the top of the ridge, I found the path without having to take a chance on descending through the woods. But nowadays, I’m getting old, and this fellow Moosilauke is more to my liking. A big, roomy, comfortable mountain, Moosilauke, with a bed waiting for you at the top, and plenty to see. Why, he’s just like a brother to me! I keep a picture of him in my room in New York to look at winters, just as you” (he turned to Rob) “keep a picture of your best girl on your bureau.” Rob turned red, while the rest laughed at him. To turn the subject, Rob said hastily: “Why is the mountain called Moosilauke?” “It used to be spelled Moose-hillock on all the maps when I was a boy,” the man replied. “People thought it meant just that--a hill where the Indians used to shoot moose. But finally somebody with some sense came along and reasoned that the Indians would hardly name a mountain with English words, when they had known it for generations before they ever heard any English. He began to investigate, and discovered, I’m told, that the Pemigewassett Indians--the tribe which lived in the valley just to the south--really called it Moosilauke, which means, as far as I can make out, ‘The great bald (or bare) mountain,’ because the top has no trees on it. The Indians never climbed it. They never climbed mountains at all, because they believed that the Great Spirit dwelt on the tops. I fancy they held Moosilauke in particular veneration--and right they were; it’s the finest old hill of ’em all!” “You like the mountains, don’t you, sir?” said Lou. “You bet,” the other answered. “They are about the biggest and solidest things we have, and the only folks who get to the top of ’em are folks with good legs, like you boys. I like people with good legs, but I don’t like lazy people. So on the mountains I’m sure of good company. It’s the only place I am sure of it--except, of course, in my own room, with the door locked!” Peanut led the laugh at this.