The boys had almost forgotten Washington in their interest in the stripped forest below them. They looked now far off to the northeast, twenty-five miles away as the crow flies, and saw just the blue bases of the Presidentials, wearing a white hood. “Say, will that cloud come over here?” asked Peanut. “Kind o’ lonesome up here, as it is.” “Ho, we’ve got a compass. We could always just go west, down to the Notch road,” said Art. Peanut looked down into the Notch. “Thanks,” he said, “but if you don’t mind I’d rather go by a path.” “I guess we’ve nothing to fear from those clouds,” said the Scout Master. “The wind is west. They’re nothing but local.” By this time they had reached the top of Lincoln, after a steady upward toil. Another col lay ahead of them--just a huge knife blade of jagged stone, with the path faintly discernible winding across it and stretching up the rocky slope of the final stone sugar loaf of Lafayette. “There’s journey’s end!” cried Mr. Rogers. “All aboard for the final dash to the Pole!” They descended rapidly from Lincoln, and soon began the ascent again, across the rising slope of the col, and then up the cone of Lafayette itself. “I’m getting sort of empty,” said Frank. “What time is it, Art?” Art looked at his watch. “No wonder!” he said. “It’s one o’clock, and after--twenty minutes after. What interests me is, how are we going to cook any lunch up here on top?” “We can’t,” Mr. Rogers said. “Of course, there’s no wood. We’ll just have to eat something cold, or else wait till we can get down to timber line.” “Oh, dear! How long will that be?” said Frank. “I should fancy we could make timber in half an hour from the top.” “That would be two, even if we didn’t stay on top any time, wouldn’t it?” “I _gotter_ stay on top long enough to dry my shirt,” Peanut answered. “It’s sticking to me.” “Then you’ll have to eat emergency rations and sweet chocolate,” said Art. “There’s nothing else which doesn’t have to be cooked.” “We ought to bake some bread and have a bit of potted ham, or something like that, for noon lunches,” said Rob. “I move we do it to-night.” “To-night?” sniffed Peanut. “To-night, I guess you forget, we dine on roast beef and plum pudding, because Art and I are heroes!” “I _did_ forget, _both_ facts,” Rob laughed. “Well, which is it, emergency rations, or wait till we get down to timber?” asked the Scout Master. “Emergency rations!” said Lou and Frank. “Wait!” said Art and Peanut (who had eaten emergency rations before). “It’s up to you to cast the deciding vote,” said Mr. Rogers to Rob. Rob winked at the Scout Master and said, “Well, if Art and Peanut are such heroes, a bit of nice, chewy pemmican won’t hurt ’em. I vote to stay on top.” “For two cents,” said Peanut, “I’d punch you in the eye.” As they neared the top of the peak, they suddenly heard voices, which sounded strange way up there, far above the world, where for hours they had heard nothing but the rushing of the wind.