“Humph! Here’s a state of things!” muttered Andy, impatiently. “And we are still two or three miles from Rudd’s Landing. What’s to do?”
“Get on our skates again and push the Icicle along,” suggested Jack.
“Boxy, you whistle for a wind, you are such a whistler,” laughed Harry, who, as there was no danger attached, was disposed to view the condition of affairs lightly.
“I’m afraid I’d have to whistle a pretty long while,” returned Boxy. “My idea is that the wind has gone down for the night, as it frequently does.”
“Dat’s it, persackly,” put in Pickles. “But I jess as lief shobe de Isticle—I’se all cold to de marrer ub my bones.”
“So am I,” cried Jack. “I’m going to push just to get warm. You had better stay on board if you feel played out,” he added, to his brother.
“No, I’ll get off, too,” replied Andy. “But I don’t believe I can shove very much; my head hurts a bit again.”
Once more all hands sprang down and donned their skates. Then Pickles, Harry, and Jack began to push the iceboat before them, while Boxy and Andy followed on behind with the sled.
It was now dark, and growing colder every minute, which was odd, so they thought, since the wind had gone down.
“We won’t get that snowstorm to-night, that’s sure,” remarked Harry. “It is always warmer just before a heavy fall of snow.”