Hoosac Valley, as I have said, swings off toward the west at North Adams. That brings Williamstown on the opposite side of Greylock from where we live. We found that out once when we went up on the mountain and came near getting lost, which you know if you have read about the doings of the Band. Almost straight down in front of us, on the east, was our village, with Bob's Hill back of it, looking flat and not like a hill at all. We could tell that it was Bob's Hill because we could see the twin stones, standing there like tiny thimbles on a table. Looking north, we could see North Adams; looking south, Cheshire, and on the west side of the mountain and a little north, was Williamstown. Bill thought of that when he was wondering how he could pass the Gingham Ground without the Gang's seeing him. "What's the use of going that way at all?" he said to himself. "What's the matter with going straight back over the hills, climbing Greylock, and then, after seeing exactly where Williamstown is, making a bee line for it? I can deliver the message on the way back." Say, that would be a great stunt! We are going to do it some time, when we get bigger and our folks get over being scared. He wanted to prove to us that he had done it; so made signs at different places on the way, beginning where he turned off the road. We struck the trail at the second sign. Bill can beat us all climbing and he went along fast, having a lot of fun all by himself. There is a path which leads up on Greylock from the Gingham Ground; he followed that. Before he had gone far he found a couple of bottles, which some one had thrown away, and he hung those around his neck with a string. He took them both so that one would balance the other. You see, he knew that there was no water on Greylock. It has to be carried there from some spring part way up. The day was hot, and he was thirsty, already. When the sun grew hotter he took it easy along, picking berries and lying around in the shade. He didn't get to the spring, where he was going to fill his bottles, until almost noon. After that there was a hard climb to get to the top, as steep as Bob's Hill, maybe steeper in places. He stopped at the spring to rest and eat his lunch; also to fix some signs. At last he stood on the very top of Greylock, which, as you probably know, is the highest mountain in the State of Massachusetts, and it has all kinds of mountains. Our geography says that it is 3,505 feet high. Those last five feet seemed a mile to Bill, and they would to you, if you were climbing the mountain on a hot day, with a pack on your back and two bottles of water hanging from your neck. I guess there never had been so much cawing on the top of Greylock as when Bill stood there, after his hard climb, looking down on the hills, which did not seem like hills, he was so much higher.