“Yes, I will miss you, Harry,” returned Mrs. Webb, affectionately.
“Oh, yes, I know. And I’ll miss you, too,” he replied, throwing his arms about her neck and kissing her. “It will seem awfully queer to be away from home.”
“You must take good care of yourself.”
“I’ll try to do that, mother.”
Harry did not spend much time at the supper table, and, his hasty meal finished, he brought out the Buster, and examined the toboggan to see if it was in good trim for the evening’s sport. Little did he dream of the fearful peril a ride on the long, low sled was to bring him and the others.
Boxy came over a moment later, and together they dragged the Buster off toward the coasting hills. They had to pass the Bascoe homestead, and here Boxy let out the peculiar whistle of the club for Andy and Jack.
“They say the Doublehill course is as smooth as glass,” said Andy, as he came out with a piece of cake in his hand. “Some of the folks don’t dare go down it.”
“I’m not afraid,” cried Harry. “Are you?”
All of the boys agreed that they were not. Each took hold of the rope, and they soon reached the top of the long double hill, where a bright bonfire was already burning, although it was still almost daylight.
“We ought to have a brake of some sort, I suppose,” mused Jack, as he surveyed the shining course, “It does look awfully slippery.”