"Here's where the path begins," said the Scout Master. "We've done fourteen miles, at least, this morning. I guess we'll have lunch."
"Let's get up into the woods first, by a spring," the boys urged, so they entered on the path, which immediately began to go up at a steepish angle through a forest of hard wood—a very ancient forest.
"Looks as if it had never been lumbered," said Art. "Wow! look at the size of those maples and beeches!"
"The paper men don't want hard wood, thank goodness," Mr. Rogers answered. "We'll get about a mile of this."
They soon found a spring beside the path, and under the shadows of the great trees they made a fire and cooked lunch. Then, for an hour, everybody rested, lying on his back and listening to the beautiful songs of the hermit thrushes. Peanut and Art and Frank went to sleep, while Lou and Rob and Mr. Rogers talked softly. It was a lazy, peaceful hour, up there in the great forest. At two o'clock Rob beat a tattoo on his frying-pan, to wake up the sleepers, and ordered the march to begin.
For the next two hours it was steady plodding. The Benton Path, by which they were climbing, was clear and good. They came out of the hard timber forest in a little over half an hour, into slash land, now growing up into scraggly woods, full of vines
