She walked rather more slowly when she had passed the brook--musing upon these things. Then presently the path became precipitous and narrow, and led through thick bushes, and over or under difficult obstructions. Constance drew on a thick pair of gloves to grapple with rough limbs and sharp points of rock. Here and there were fairly level stretches and easy going, but for the most part it was up and up--steeper and steeper--over stones and logs, through heavy bushes and vines that matted across the trail, so that one must stoop down and burrow like a rabbit not to miss the way. Miss Deane began to realize presently that the McIntyre trail was somewhat less easy than she had anticipated. "If Robin calls this an easy trail, I should like to know what he means by a hard one," she commented aloud, as she made her way through a great tumble of logs only to find that the narrow path disappeared into a clump of bushes beyond and apparently brought up plump against a plunging waterfall on the other side. "One would have to be a perfect salmon to scale that!" But arriving at the foot of the fall, she found that the trail merely crossed the pool below and was clearly marked beyond. This was the brook which Frank had not reached. It was no great distance from the summit. But now the climb became steeper than ever--a hand over hand affair, with scratched face and torn dress and frequent pauses for breath. There was no longer any tall timber, but only masses of dwarfed and twisted little oak trees--a few feet high, though gnarled and gray with age, and loaded with acorns. Constance knew these for the scrub-oak, that degenerate but persistent little scion of a noble race, that pushes its miniature forests to the very edge and into the last crevice of the barren mountain top. Soon this diminutive wilderness began to separate into segments and the trail reached a comparative level. Then suddenly it became solid rock, with only here and there a clump of the stunted oak, or a bit of grass. The girl realized that she must be on the summit and would presently reach the peak, where, from a crevice, grew the object of her adventure. She paused a moment for breath, and to straighten her disheveled hair. Also she turned for a look at the view which she thought must lie behind her. But she gave a little cry of disappointment. A white wraith of mist, like the very ghost of a cloud, was creeping silently along the mountain side and veiled the vision of the wide lands below. Where she stood the air was still clear, but she imagined the cloud was creeping nearer and would presently envelop the mountain-top. She would hurry to the peak and try to get a view from the other side, which after all was considered the best outlook.