The roaring had seemed to come from the mountain, so we climbed up the road and went into a field beyond the woods, from which we usually can see old Greylock looming up, only looking different, it is so near. This time we couldn't see him at all. The sky was clear overhead, but clouds still hung about the mountain, shutting him from sight. Then, as we stood there, the noise came again, only worse this time, and right in front of us. The ground seemed to tremble under our feet and from somewhere, back of the cloud which covered the mountainside, came a mighty roaring and grinding that was awful. We stood there, clinging to each other and wondering if the end of the world had come, when suddenly the cloud lifted and Skinny yelled: "Look! Look!" Down the face of Greylock, where before trees had been growing, water was pouring over a great, white scar, which reached from top to bottom, nearly to where we stood, and over to the south was a smaller scar. "Guess what," said Benny. "Greylock is crying. What do you know about that?" There had been two landslides, the only ones we ever had known to happen on the mountain. And to this day, as far as you can see Greylock, you will see those white scars of bare rock, stretching down his face, as if some monstrous giant had clawed him, but, of course, no water after that first time. CHAPTER XVII ON THE WAY AT LAST FOLKS in our town think that white streaks down the face of Greylock do not improve his looks any, but to us boys they seem like scars won in battle. We feel like cheering some mornings, when we see him fighting to break away from storm clouds which wrap him around. At first we can see nothing but clouds from where we stand on Bob's Hill. Then, the clouds begin to lift a little and Peck's Falls woods gradually come into view. A little later the very tiptop of the mountain begins to show, floating like an island in an ocean of mist. While we look, the clouds fall away still more, making the island larger and larger, and the bottom mists roll up the wooded sides of the hill. In a few minutes old Greylock throws them off altogether and stands there, with his scars showing, except that across his face a narrow cloud sometimes hangs like a billowy screen, giving him, Ma says, a look of majesty as if God was living there. Anyhow, we boys can't help cheering when the mountain shakes off his bonds and stands forth like a giant Scout, telling us to be cheerful and brave and reverent and all that. The great rains did more than scar the face of Greylock. They kept us from starting on our trip at the time we had planned to go. "Wait until the woods dry out," Mr. Norton told us. "The roads are too muddy now to think of starting, and you couldn't have any fun if the woods were wet. A week of sunshine will fix things all right." We hated to wait, but there was plenty to do getting ready, so that the time did not seem long.