“If we push on at a fast pace, we should be back at the lodge before it gets dark,” Kent said, as they crossed a brook and started up a hill slope.
“We won’t linger in the store,” Barry promised. “It will be dark earlier than usual tonight, and we’ll have to make a flying trip of it. I suppose we should have started out this morning.”
“I guess so, if we had wanted to take our time about it. Oh, well, I’m sure that we’ll make it all right. Beginning to snow, isn’t it?”
Kent was right. Lazy flakes of snow began to drift down through the trees, and when they reached the top of the hill they could see for some distance. In every direction the air was filled with softly falling flakes.
“If it doesn’t come down any harder than that, it won’t bother us any,” Kent remarked.
“Hard to tell about that,” his companion said. “Some pretty hard storms start out mildly. Those clouds above look to be full. However, we won’t borrow trouble until we have to.”
They crossed a somewhat thicker section of timber and came to the top of another rise of ground. Barry pointed ahead of them.
“See that church steeple? I believe that is Fox Point.”
“If it is, we’ve hit it pretty well. It won’t be long before we know for certain.”
They set off once more and before long came to the edge of the woods and saw the little crossroads village of Fox Point before them. A few houses, a general store, and a church and school building made up the tiny country village. The boys went at once to the store and, leaving the sled outside, were soon warming their hands at the big iron stove in the center of the store.