Two ear-splitting blasts answered Fred’s whistle, and Artie and Ward shot out of the Larue barn, where they had been engaged in some interesting experiment. Artie always had an experiment or two on hand.
“Hurry up! He wants us,” said Polly, as Fred spied them and waved.
The three girls ran the rest of the way and reached the Williamson gate breathless.
“You know Thanksgiving?” said Fred.
They nodded, dumbly.
“Well, we’re going up to Tom’s Island!” said Fred, who certainly did not believe in wasting words.
“Tom’s Island!” echoed Polly. “But it’s winter!”
“All the more fun. Wait till you hear,” said Fred. “We’re going up in the car Wednesday night and stay over till Sunday. Think of the sport! If the lake is frozen, we can skate or walk on the ice, and maybe we can rig up a sail and have ice boating.”
“I’d rather have it snow,” said Artie, seriously. “Let’s take our sleds.”
Margy shivered.