could see the green intervale of Bretton Woods, shining in full morning light.
"Rather more cheerful than yesterday," said Frank.
"Ra-ther," cried Peanut.
At the junction of the Boott Spur Trail, everybody unloaded all baggage, and the packs and blankets were piled under a boulder. Then they hurried on down the Bridle Path, past the refuge hut which had been such a friend the day before, and soon reached the larger of the two Lakes of the Clouds, which lies just north of the Crawford Trail, on the very edge of the Monroe-Washington col, exactly two miles below the summit. The larger lake is perhaps half an acre in extent, the smaller hardly a third of that size.
"These lakes are the highest east of the Rocky Mountains," said Mr. Rogers. "They are 5,053 feet above sea level."
"And a deer has been drinking in this one," said Art, pointing to a hoof mark in the soft, deep moss at the margin.
"Sure enough!" one of the men said. "He must have come up from timber line, probably over from Oakes Gulf."
"You remember, boys," Mr. Rogers said, "that I told you I was going to show you the head waters of a river? Well, we saw one at the Crawford House
