firmly strapped, compasses examined and stowed in the pockets, and the party was ready for the ascent. They moved rather slowly into the path, and turned upward, for the loads were heavy. They were carrying enough provisions for four days, the evaporated vegetables and powdered milk and eggs having been largely saved for this final trip over the bare Presidentials, where they would be far from any sources of fresh supply, and their weight increased by flour, a little butter, some coffee, bacon, potted ham and sweet chocolate purchased the day before in Franconia.
"I feel like a packhorse," said Peanut.
"Don't you mean a donkey?" Art laughed.
"Speaking of horses," said Mr. Rogers, as they plodded up the trail through the woods, "this Crawford Bridle Path was made originally for horses, little burros I suppose they were, and folks even when I was a boy used to go up on their backs. I suppose the cog railroad put that form of transportation gradually out of business. Now nobody goes up this way except on Shanks' mare."
"When was this path made?" asked Frank.
"It was the first path cut on the Presidential range," Mr. Rogers replied. "Abel Crawford opened it in 1819, as far as the summit of Clinton—three miles from the Crawford House. It's another five and a half or six to the top of Washington,
