“Excuse me,” said Jess, politely. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” cried the exasperated Fred. “Can’t you listen a minute? I thought I heard something.”
They listened intently.
“Hallo! Hal-lo!” came a call. “Come—back. Come—back!”
“That’s Mr. Meade,” said Fred. “Come on, we have to go back.”
“But we haven’t found Artie,” protested Polly, ready to cry.
“Got to go back and see what he says,” said Fred, firmly. “Come on. Perhaps he has found Artie.”
Polly didn’t see how this could possibly be, but she followed the rest as they turned. Fred tried to run a little, but they had walked fast, and Ward, especially, had no extra breath to expend, even in a dog-trot.
“How could he find Artie, when he fell off back here somewhere?” asked Jess of Polly, slipping along the glassy depressions left by sleigh runners.
“He couldn’t,” Margy answered before Polly could. “I never heard of such a silly idea in my life!” she added.