"They said I could go there if I wanted to, and I could take you Rover boys and Spouter with me, provided you could get consent to go."
"Isn't that dandy!"
"Of course we'll go, Gif. Horses couldn't hold us back!"
"How is the hunting there? Can we get a deer or a moose?"
"How do you get there?"
These were a few questions hurled at Gif after he had made his important announcement. He placed his hands over his ears in despair.
"One question at a time, please!" he begged. "What do you think I am, anyhow—an encyclopædia? To get there you go from here to Portview, and then along the coast to a place called Timminsport. From Timminsport you have either to take a sleigh or else hike to the camp, which is about five or six miles away. There is an old fellow, named Jed Wallop, who lives near the property in a little shack some distance from the bungalow. If we want him to, he will get a sled and drive us to the place, and he will also assist us in getting settled, and in getting what stores we may need—that is, provided you fellows can really go."
"You can count of me," declared Spouter promptly. "My folks said I could do as I pleased during the holidays, provided I kept out of mischief. And what mischief could a fellow get into in the midst of those grand primeval forests where perhaps the woodsman has never dared to lay his axe to the heart of the sturdy oak, and where the timid deer, in fancied freedom, ambles through the darkening glades, and—"
"Turn off the spigot, Spouter, or you'll have us flooded!" burst out Randy.
"Save your orations for the day before election," came from Fred.