"They were at the hut when we first got there at two o'clock, waiting for the cloud to break," said Mr. Rogers. "They came up Adams with us to see you fellows signal, for they said the cloud wouldn't last long. Good trampers, they were, on their annual vacation up here. They know every path like a book."
The Scouts were discussing signaling and its uses, and Rob was saying that it made him tired to hear people say the Scouts were taught to be war-*like, when signaling had proved so valuable that very day as a means of saving life in peace, instead of taking it in war—when steps were heard outside the hut, and a second later two men stood in the door.
"Hello, any room?" they said.
"Come in," said the caretaker.
The two men entered. They were rather elderly men, or at least middle aged, with gray hair; but both of them were tanned and rugged, the type you learn to recognize as the real trampers on the White Mountain trails. They made themselves at home at once, tossing their small packs into a corner. They had no blankets, but both of them carried botanical specimen cases.
"Where from?" asked Mr. Rogers.
"Jackson," they said. "We came up Tuckerman's yesterday to the Tip Top House, and spent
