“Is the window open?” asked Polly, suddenly, with a shiver.
“Closed,” reported Fred. “Gee! there is a blast coming from somewhere.”
“The door’s swung open,” said Artie, rising to close it.
“I think it’s awfully cold up here,” said Margy, with customary frankness.
She wore a sweater, and so did the other girls, but there was no denying the clubroom in the loft of the barn was chilly.
“I’ve just thought!” went on Margy. “What shall we do when it’s winter? We’ll freeze to death up here.”
Jess looked distressed. The room was in her father’s barn, and she had never considered the advent of cold weather. The Riddle Club had been formed in the spring, and the meetings had been held—until the trip to camp—very comfortably in the little room.
“That’s so,” said Polly now. “We can’t meet here in winter. I don’t see what we are going to do.”
“It won’t be winter for perfect ages,” declared the hopeful Jess. “To-day is what Dora calls an ‘odd day.’ She was saying this morning that we’ll probably have warm weather again. There’s Indian summer—we haven’t had that yet. I don’t think it’s really cold up here—do you?”
“Not really cold,” answered Polly. “But I’m thinking of December. It will be cold then.”