"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.
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