They now went to the Goodwins’ house to pay their party call, and say good-bye, and then returned to camp to wait for the motor. They had all their stuff out beside the road when the car, a big, seven passenger touring car, came along, and in they piled. They drew lots for the front seat, and Peanut won. The other five got into the tonneau, and with a shout, the car started up--or rather down the road, for they were on the top of a hill. CHAPTER IX THE CRAWFORD NOTCH The road kept on going down, too, through the woods. The driver told them that this was Three Mile Hill, and nobody disputed him. It was certainly three miles. All the cars they met coming up were on the lowest speed, and chugging hard. At the bottom, they came into the little village of Franconia, and behind them they could see the mountains they had been climbing, piled up against the sky. “How about grub?” Art suddenly exclaimed. “We’ve got to stock up before we start to-morrow. In fact, we haven’t enough for supper to-night--and it’s Sunday.” Nobody had thought of that, but Mr. Goodwin’s chauffeur was equal to the emergency. He drove to the storekeeper’s house, who opened the store, and sold them what they needed. “Suppose I’m breaking the law,” he said, “but _I _shouldn’t want to see you fellers go hungry!” Then they got in the car again, turned eastward, climbed a hill past the Forest Hill Hotel, and spun along the Gale River road toward Bethlehem, a pretty road through the woods, beside the rushing Gale River. After a few miles, the road climbed a long hill, away from the river, and suddenly, at the top of the hill, they looked out across the valley to the whole panorama of the White Mountains. To the right, a little behind them, rose Cannon and Lafayette. Directly south was the sharp cone of Garfield, then the two tall Twins, then, still far to the east, but nearer than they had yet seen them, the blue Presidentials, with Washington clear of cloud, and the Summit House showing. “Some sight!” exclaimed Peanut. They now came speedily into Bethlehem, a town high upon a hill, with many hotels and many stores and summer houses, along a single street, a street a mile long, with golf links at one side of the road, and many people in gay summer clothes walking up and down. The chauffeur drove the length of the street and back (stopping, at Peanut’s demand, to get sodas at a drug store) and then turned the car eastward once more, toward Mount Washington. The going was good, and the driver “let in the juice,” as Peanut expressed it. They rushed along at thirty miles an hour, with Mount Washington getting closer every moment. The Scouts took off their hats, and the warm wind blew through their hair. “Pretty fast walking we’re doing to-day!” cried Peanut.