“You’ll know you’ve worked about to-morrow,” Mr. Rogers laughed.
They made the four miles to the road in a little over half an hour, which, as Art said, is “going some.”
It was less than eight o’clock when they faced the ten miles of road to Moosilauke.
The first thing to attract particular attention was the village of Easton, through which they passed half an hour later. Of the half dozen houses in the village, two were quite abandoned. There was a tiny store, and a small sawmill, and that was all. Beyond the village they passed an abandoned church. Then followed two or three small houses, also abandoned, and then nothing but the narrow, sandy road, winding through woods and fields, with Kinsman growing farther behind them on the left, and Moosilauke nearer straight ahead. They went for more than an hour without meeting a single wagon or motor, and after they left Easton they did not see a human being.
“Pretty lively little road, this,” said Peanut.
“Makes you think of Broadway, New York,” laughed Rob.
“Look!” said Lou. “Moosilauke isn’t blue any longer. You can see the green of the forest.”
“You can see what was a forest,” said Mr. Rogers. “The paper company have stripped it.”
“Why paper?” asked Peanut.
“Why paper!” Art sniffed. “You poor boob, don’t you know that paper is made out of wood pulp?”