Not everybody knows--but few _try_ to know--how witching that climb up Crownest is, if you take the old "Cadet Trail." The way goes along for a while at the level of the plain, but then betakes itself to the air; presently mounting up and up with a straight pitch before you. There come turns, of course, winding round some unscaleable rock; and gentler going over a small knoll or two, and quite a level stretch around the shoulder, in the "Nest." But very often it is just a steep ladder of a path, to be climbed as best you can. A wilderness of grey rock and green woods; feathery hemlocks, sombre oaks, ash trees, maples, and hickory. Below these, dogwood and other "cornels," with ironwood, shad blossom, witch hazel, and laurel. Lower still ferns--unlike those in the valley; with orchids of a new type, yellow gerardias, purple gerardias, partridge berry, and wintergreen. Then the brown leaves of last year, half covering the mosses, and thickly sprinkled in turn with the red and yellow of to-day. The rarest scents are in the air: the balsam breath of the sweet brier, and from the new-fallen and falling leaves that special fragrance of the autumn woods--sweet, racy, heart-piercing, a waft from days gone by and withered, their work all done. Many of the birds have already gone South; but robins are here, and chickadees, and the cry of the gulls is in perfect keeping with the cool air and the white caps on the river. Up through this wilderness of wild and fragrant things, the little party went joyously along; or if not quite that on Mrs. Newcomb's part, yet it is painful to relate that her trips and stumbles did but heighten the fun for all the rest. In many a place it took two men to get her on at all. Magnus would leave his pretty companion safe on some high standpoint, jump down again himself, and with Crane on the other side carefully engineer Mrs. Newcomb to a place beside her niece. It might also be noticed that Mr. Clinker and his convoy generally lagged behind at such crises, or got into some tangle themselves, from which they came out, safe and suddenly, as soon as Mrs. Newcomb was disposed of. And by and by Cadet Kindred, being quite alive to the situation, quickened his pace, and passed on too far ahead for any new service to be required of him. On and up the two flitted along--like grey and red squirrels, averred the toiling Mrs. Newcomb; but even for themselves there were difficulties. Here, for instance, stands an immense rock that stops the way. And as Miss Lane measures it with her eyes, behold! there is Magnus on top of it, reaching down his hand to her. "Do you expect me to climb up there?" Cadet gives a little gesture of the head which Dickens would have said meant, "He rather thought so." "How did you get there yourself?" "Came." "Are there any snakes up there?" "Not so many as where you are." Miss Lane seized his hand, made unheard-of efforts, and mounted the rock, then looked down complacently.