Everybody went back to the shelter and waited another half hour, which seemed more like two hours, as Peanut said. Then somebody went out again to reconnoitre, and returned with the information that the cloud was lifting still more, and the northern valley was visible. In another half hour even from within the cabin they could see it was very perceptibly lighter. The hurricane had subsided to a steady gale, which Rob estimated at forty miles an hour, by tossing a bit of paper into the air and watching the speed of its flight. It was warmer, too, though still very chilling in the fireless cabin. In another half hour you could walk some distance from the cabin without losing sight of it, and Peanut and Art went down to the spring behind for water. Then Mr. Rogers took the Scouts back on the trail a short distance and showed them a peep of the two Lakes of the Clouds back on the col toward Monroe. “We were going to have lunch by those lakes,” he said. “I wanted to show you several interesting things about them. But they’ll have to wait. It’s a regular Alpine garden down there, and it’s coming into flower now. If we get a good day to-morrow, we can take it in, though.” “Look,” cried Lou, suddenly, “there’s Monroe coming out of the cloud!” “And there’s Franklin behind it!” cried Frank. “And there’s a misty bright spot where the sun is!” cried Peanut. They hastened back toward the shelter to carry the news to the couple within, and even as they walked the clouds seemed to be rolled up by the wind from the northern slopes, and blown off toward the south. Before long, the whole Crawford Trail behind them was practically free from cloud, and the sun, very faint and hazy, was making a soft dazzle on the powder of frost upon the rocks, for the snow was little more than a heavy frost. To the north, they could again see the valley, and the Dartmouth range beyond it, and peaks still farther away, with the sunlight on them. But the entire summit cone of Washington was still invisible. Standing in front of the shelter, they looked along a plateau of granite and saw it end in a solid mass of cloud. “Oh, does that mean we can’t go on?” cried the girl. Mr. Rogers looked at her. “How do you feel?” he said. “Lame and cold,” she answered, “but I can do it!” “Well, I feel pretty sure that this storm is over for the day,” the Scout Master replied. “But those clouds will probably take all night to blow off Washington. I can keep the path, I feel pretty sure. It is plain after you reach the actual cone. And, anyhow, we’ve got time enough to circle the cone till we reach the railroad trestle, if worst comes to worst. I guess you’d be better off at the top. Shoulder packs, boys!” He looked at his watch. It was half-past three. “Now, less than two miles! Keep moving briskly. There’s nothing to fear now. This storm is over, I’m sure. A fire waits on top!”