“You’re right,” said the bugler. “You’re quite right. They’ve neglected this fine old path for the paths on the north peaks. And it’s more dangerous than any of the north peaks, too. It ought to be remarked.” As he spoke, they came suddenly into what looked like an old cellar hole in the rocks. “The corral where the horses used to be hitched after they’d come up the Bridle Path,” said the man. “We’re almost there, now.” The path became more nearly level, and very soon, through the cloud, they could make out what looked like the end of a wooden bridge. A moment later, and they saw it was the end of a railroad trestle. Another minute, and through the vapors they saw emerge a house, a curious, long, low house, built of stone, with a wooden roof. The house was shaped just like a Noah’s ark. “The summit!” cried Mr. Rogers. “There’s the old Tip Top House!” The Scouts gave a yell, and jumped upon the platform at the top of the railroad. From this platform a board walk led up to the door of the Tip Top House. Across the track, steps led down to a barn and a second house, the coach house at the top of the carriage road, which ascends the eastern slope of the mountain. The girl, as Rob and her fiancé helped her up on the platform, gave a weary sigh, almost a sob, and then, hobbling on her lame ankle, she tried to run up the walk to the Tip Top House. The boys followed a little more slowly, looking first at the cellar hole where the old Summit Hotel used to stand (it was burned down in 1908) and where a new hotel will have been built before this story is published. It was nearly half-past five when they entered the long, low room of the Tip Top House, and felt the sudden warmth of a wood-fire roaring in a great iron stove. Dumping their packs in a corner, the boys made for this stove, and held out their hands toward the warmth. “Gee, it feels good,” said Peanut. “Feels good on my legs, all right,” said Frank. “I’m kind o’ stiff and tired, I don’t mind saying.” The girl had disappeared. She had already talked to her mother at the foot of the mountain by the telephone which runs down the railroad trestle, and the wife of the proprietor of the Tip Top House had taken her up-stairs to put her to bed. [Illustration: “It all depends on what winds Father Aeolus keeps chained, perhaps in the deep caverns of the Great Gulf, or which ones he lets loose to rattle the chains of the Tip Top House”] “I guess she’ll sleep all right to-night,” said the man with the bugle, who had entered with the boys. “And she won’t tackle the Crawford Bridle Path with high heeled shoes on very soon again, either!” said Rob. “Are we going to sleep here, too, Mr. Rogers? I don’t believe we’ll want to sleep outside. The thermometer by that window is still down almost to freezing.”