"Part of the way,—but, later, we abandon the craft and hoof it."
"Maybe and maybe not," said Shelby. "It all depends on the weather conditions. But the season is just right, and we'll have good going, one way or another, I'm sure."
"You're the surest thing I know, Kit," Gilbert Blair said; "now with no hint of pessimism, I own up I look for pretty hard lines a good bit of the time."
"Calamity Howler!" returned Shelby; "why damp our enthusiasm like that?"
"Can't damp mine," and Peter beamed with glad anticipation. "Let the hard lines come if they like. I'm expecting them and expecting to enjoy them along with the rest."
"Pollyanna Peter!" chaffed Carlotta; "shan't you mind it if the blizzard blows down your tent and the dogs run away with your dinner and your feets give out?"
"Nixy! I'll set up the tent again, get some more dinner from the larder and rest my feet for a spell."
"That's right, boy," said his father, "that's the spirit. But do take enough provisions and, if they run low, make a dash for home."
"Just my idea, Dad, exactly. And as Shelby's looking after the commissariat, and Blair attending to the tents and cooking outfit, something tells me they'll be top hole. Maybe not such traps as these——" and Peter nodded toward the elaborate tea service being brought in and arranged before Mrs. Crane, who was in her element as hostess.
"No, you poor boys," she said, "I suppose you'll drink out of horrible thick china——"