"Raisins and sweet chocolate—that makes a meal for me any time. Don't have to cook it, either."
He sat with his back against a tree after the meal, and told stories of the mountain. "I used to tramp over all these hills every vacation," he said, "and many a good time I've had, and many a hard time, too, on Washington, especially. I was caught in a snow-storm one June on the Crawford Bridle Path and nearly froze before I got to the Mt. Pleasant Path down. The wind was blowing a hundred miles an hour, at least, and went right through me. I couldn't see twenty feet ahead, either. Luckily, I had a compass, and by keeping the top of the ridge, I found the path without having to take a chance on descending through the woods. But nowadays, I'm getting old, and this fellow Moosilauke is more to my liking. A big, roomy, comfortable mountain, Moosilauke, with a bed waiting for you at the top, and plenty to see. Why, he's just like a brother to me! I keep a picture of him in my room in New York to look at winters, just as you" (he turned to Rob) "keep a picture of your best girl on your bureau."
Rob turned red, while the rest laughed at him. To turn the subject, Rob said hastily:
"Why is the mountain called Moosilauke?"
"It used to be spelled Moose-hillock on all the maps when I was a boy," the man replied. "Peo-
