They now turned in from the road, and followed the path, each one counting his steps. But, as the path was down-hill, and they had counted first when going up-hill, everybody was still many paces shy when Lou, who was leading with the lantern, suddenly spied the handkerchief, still tied to a bush. They turned into the underbrush, and after considerable stumbling in the dark, amid the undergrowth and the gigantic hemlock trunks, the lantern light fell on a shimmer of white--one of the shirts hung up to dry--and they found their camp. It wasn’t five minutes later when the camp was once more dark and silent. CHAPTER VIII ON THE FOREHEAD OF THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN The camp next morning was still asleep at daybreak, and for the first time, almost, in the history of the Southmead Scouts Art was not the first to wake. He and Peanut were both asleep when the rest sat up and rubbed their eyes, and it was not till Rob rattled a pan and Lou began to chop wood that the two boys aroused. “Because you’re heroes is no reason you should be lazy,” Rob laughed. Peanut propped himself up on his elbow, and regarded the scene. The sun had not yet risen high enough to look in over the northern shoulders of Lafayette, and it was still dim among the great hemlocks. Some forest birds were singing sweetly, a hermit thrush far off sounding like a fairy clarion. The brook could be heard running close by. The woods smelled fresh and fragrant. “I don’t believe I’ll get up at all,” Peanut announced. “Rather like it here. Gee, but I slept hard last night! Bet I made a dent in the ground.” “Won’t get up at all, eh?” Rob remarked, setting down the coffee-pot. “We need more wood. Out with you!” He took hold of Peanut’s blanket, and rolled the occupant out upon the bare ground. Peanut picked himself up sleepily, and hunted his tooth-brush out of his pack. “Oh, very well!” he said, starting down to the brook for his morning wash. “Only it would be nice one day just to lie around in camp, and do nothing.” “We’ll do just that, when we get to the Great Gulf, or Tuckerman’s Ravine, perhaps,” said Mr. Rogers. “But not to-day. Besides, we’re going to get a motor ride this afternoon.” It was after seven o’clock before camp was struck. They left everything packed and ready to put aboard the motor after lunch, and armed only with a small package of raisins apiece, which Mr. Rogers had mysteriously produced from his pack, and the last of the sweet chocolate, and with their staffs and canteens, and the book, they set off. “Seems good to be going light,” somebody remarked. “It does that,” said Art. “Let’s whoop it up this morning. By the way, we haven’t cut our mileage for two days.” “We can do it at lunch,” said Peanut. “Won’t take us long to eat what we’ve got. That’s a lead pipe. Say, Mr. Rogers, did you have those raisins yesterday?” “You’ll never know!” the Scout Master laughed.