He chose the trails that went _down_ simply because his weary legs could not _climb_ one foot more! And he had gone down such steep inclines that he was positive he had descended twice the height of the mountain and must surely come into some valley or other--then suddenly his foot slipped on the needles that cushioned the trail, he fell, just as one does on the ice--only much more softly--and slid on, down and down, deftly steering himself around a bend, and came to a stop against a dead log just in time to escape bumping over a flight of rocky steps, neatly built by Nature in the side of the mountain and which led to a grassy terrace, open on one side to the wide sweep of valley and surrounding mountains and closed in on the other by leaning, whispering birches. It was not the amazing view off over the valley, nor the impact against the old log that made his breath catch in his throat with a little surprised sound--it was the sudden apparition of a slim creature standing very straight on a huge rock! His first joyful thought was that it was a boy--a boy who could lead him back to the Wayside Hotel, for the youth wore soft leather breeches and a blouse, loosely belted at the waist, woolen golf stockings and soft elkskin shoes, but when the head turned, like a startled deer's, toward the unexpected sound, he saw, with more interest than disappointment, that the boy was a girl! "How do you do?" he said, because her eyes told him very plainly that he was intruding upon some pleasant occupation. "I'm very glad to see you because, I must admit, I'm lost." The girl jumped down from her rock. She had an exceptionally pretty face that seemed to smile all over. "Won't you come down?" she said graciously, as though she was the mistress of Kettle Mountain and all its glades. Then John Westley did what in all his thirty-five years he had never done before--he fainted. He made one little effort to rise and walk down the rocky steps but instead he rolled in an unconscious heap right to the girl's feet. He wakened, some moments later, to a consciousness of cool water in his face and a pair of anxious brown eyes close to his own. He felt very much ashamed--and really better for having given way! "Are you all right now?" "Yes--or I will be in a moment. Just give me a hand." He marveled at the dexterity with which she lifted him against her slim shoulder. "Little-Dad's gone over to Rocky Point, but I knew what to do," she said proudly. "I s'pose you're from Wayside?" He looked around. "Where _is_ Wayside?" She laughed, showing two rows of strong, white teeth. "Well, the way Little-Dad travels it's hours away so that Silverheels has to rest between going and coming, and Mr. Toby Chubb gets there in an hour with his new automobile when it'll _go_, but if you follow the Sunrise trail and then turn by the Indian Head and turn again at the Kettle's Handle you'll come into the Sleepy Hollow and the Devil's Pass and----"