“Nothing special,” drawled Ham as he rose to a sitting position and drew his legs up under him.  “I’ve just been listening.  Your stories have been the words to the music that is in the air to-night.  I love to lie still before a fire and listen to its music.  I never realized before how many out-of-door noises are liberated when a pile of dry sticks are burned.  That old fire has just been singing all the imprisoned songs of the forest wild to-night, and giving out again in its little flames a hundred thousand tons of absorbed sunshine.”

“Ham, let’s have the Pike’s Peak story,” urged Mr. Dean; but Ham only laughed.

“Yes, let’s do,” begged Willis.

“What’s the Pike’s Peak story?” inquired Sleepy from his place against an old stump.

“Well, if every one of you fellows will promise to never mention it again to me,” said Ham hesitatingly; “but I’m not going to tell you all the details—­just the plot—­remember that!” He settled himself comfortably and began: 

“The three of us had been in the habit of taking long Sunday afternoon tramps in the mountains, but because of the cold weather we had been pretty well shut in all winter.  The snowfall for the season had been heavy and the cold, especially in the mountains, had been intense.  It was the eighth of March, I think, and the very first signs of spring had just put in their appearance.  We decided that we would walk to the Half-Way House on the Cog Road, or at least as far as we could.  We didn’t know how much snow there was, or where it began, but we were all feeling good and anxious for another real hike.  We were all three dressed in our Sunday clothes, and I was the proud possessor of a new spring suit and a pair of low shoes.  It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when we started up the track from Manitou; by five o’clock we reached the Half-Way House, and much to our surprise found the keeper there.  We had encountered very little or no snow that far on the track, and, as the days were getting longer, we knew we had two good hours yet before dark.  We inquired of the inn keeper how far the track was open, and he informed us that it was clear as far as Windy Point, that there the great ice sheets began.  There is always more snow on the great south shoulder of the Peak than anywhere else.  You remember Son-of-a-Gun Hill?  Well, we decided that we would push on to the top of Son-of-a-Gun, then come back.  We left the Half-Way House and started up the track.  The walking was fine on that flat stretch just after you leave the inn, and we covered space very rapidly.  At the bottom of the great hill, in a grove of young aspens, we stopped and cut us some walking sticks.