The Story of Sugar | Page 7

the trail led through low, flat
woods, fragrant with hemlock and balsam; here it was sheltered and
warm. But soon the real ascent began.
"We follow the bed of this brook almost to the top," explained Bob
who was leading the way. "We come into it here, you see. In summer it
is a narrow path clearly marked by rough stones; you wouldn't believe
how different it looks now all covered with snow. It doesn't seem like
the same place. I didn't realize what a difference the snow would make
in everything. But, anyway, we can't miss the way with these great
boulders along the sides of the path; and even if we did the trees are
blazed."
They pushed on for some time.
Then the strap of Van's snow-shoe broke.
"Oh, thunder! Got a knife, Bob?" he called. "This darn thing's busted.
I'll have to haul to for repairs."

Bob stopped impatiently.
"Why didn't you look at it before you started?" he said.
"Never thought of it, Old Preparedness," was the good-natured reply.
"No matter, I have some string and I think I can fix it."
It took some time, however, to make the fastening to the shoe and
moccasin secure, and in the meantime the sun went behind a cloud.
"I guess Father wasn't a very good weather prophet," remarked Bob,
glancing at the sky. "It seems to be clouding up."
"Don't fret. What do we care?" was Van's easy answer. "We're not
really after the view. I don't give a hurrah for what we see when we get
to the top; what I want is the fun of doing it."
They shuffled on.
"I'll be glad when this luncheon is inside instead of outside of me, won't
you?" puffed Bob. "It's almighty heavy to carry."
"It isn't the lunch I mind. It's all these infernal clothes," was Van's retort.
"I don't see what on earth I wore so many things for."
"You'll want them by and by."
"I bet I won't!" protested Van. "I'm going to tie my red sweater to this
tree and leave it here; I can't be bothered with so much stuff."
"You'll be cold when you get to the top."
"No, I won't. And anyway I'd rather be too cold then than too hot now.
One's no better than the other."
Deaf to Bob's counsel Van resolutely wound the offending sweater
about a great white birch tree that stood at a fork of the path.
"You'll be sorry," was Bob's parting thrust as they plodded on.

The trail was now steep and so narrow that frequently Bob had to stop
and search for the blazing on the trees.
"Of course I know my way, all right," he insisted. "Still, it is mighty
different in winter from what it is at other seasons of the year, I'll admit
that. Remember, I've never climbed this hill when the snow was on the
ground. However, when we once get to the top the coming down will
be a cinch, because we can follow our own tracks."
It was nearly two o'clock before the boys reached the top of the
mountain. Over the landscape hung a mass of heavy gray clouds
beneath which the sun was hidden; the wind was cutting as a knife, and
while Van sought the shelter of an old shack Bob roamed about,
delighting in the familiar scene.
"Why don't you come over here and look at the view?" he called to his
companion. "It is fairly clear in spite of the clouds."
Van shivered.
"Oh, I don't want to. I don't care a hang for the view--I told you that
before. I'm just hungry. Let's get a fire going and cook the chops. What
do you say?"
"You're cold. I said you would be."
"I'm not. I'm starved, though. Where can we get some wood?"
Bob glanced about.
"There seems to be plenty of undergrowth down in that hollow. Take
my knife and cut away some of it. There's a piece of an old stump, too,
that ought to burn well if it isn't too wet."
"That thing would never burn; but the brush will. Sling me the knife
and I'll cut an armful. Let's build it in that little rocky shelter. Thanks to
my camping training I'm right at home on this job."
Van's boast was no idle one. Soon the fire was crackling merrily and

the chops and bacon were sizzling in the frying-pan. Bob unpacked the
sandwiches and the thermos bottle of hot chocolate.
It was a regal luncheon.
How good everything tasted!
"I believe I was cold," Van admitted, rubbing his hands over the dying
embers of the blaze. "But I'm warm as toast now. Is there any more
grub left to eat?"
"Not a crumb--why? Are you still hungry?" queried