sharply peaked, of naked rock. Off to the left, beyond that, growing bluer and bluer into the distance, was a billowing sea of mountains, and very far off, to the northwest, almost like a mist on the horizon, lay the biggest pyramid of all, which Mr. Rogers told them was Mount Washington.
"Some mountains, those!" Peanut exclaimed. "Gee, I guess we won't climb 'em all in two weeks!"
"I guess not," Rob laughed.
They turned to the right now, passing a big hotel on the very crest of the hill, and as they passed, the setting sun behind them turned all the mountains a bright amethyst, so that they looked, as Lou put it, "like great big jewels."
"It's beautiful!" he added, enthusiastically.
"Make a poem about it," said Peanut. "Say, Mr. Rogers, Lou writes poetry. You oughter read it! He wrote a poem to Lucy Parker one day, didn't you, Lou?"
"Shut up," said Lou, turning red.
"Well, if I could write poetry, this view would make me do it, all right," Rob put in. "Now where to, Mr. Rogers?"
"Getting hungry?" said the Scout Master.
"I sure am."
"Well, in an hour we'll be at camp. All down-*hill, too."
