“Snowed the fire out of sight is good,” laughed Boxy. “Well, let’s hustle and shovel it in sight again, for it’s as cold as the North Pole in here!”
“And it’s colder yet outside,” replied Jack, looking out of the doorway Pickles had opened. “The snow is coming down lively, boys, and we must lose no time if we want to get across the lake and settle down.”
Every one was soon outside, Boxy and Andy with their blankets still drawn around them. Both were used to sleeping in heated bedrooms, and the cold seemed to pierce them to the very marrow of their bones.
“Hustle around to start up the fire, and that will warm you up,” suggested Harry. “Come, everybody pitch in, for it’s half-past seven, and we want to be on our way by eight o’clock, or a little after.”
They did pitch in with a will. While Pickles, Boxy, and Andy started up a big, lively blaze, and got together something to eat, Jack and Harry took down the blankets and packed the things on the sled.
Presently Pickles slipped off down to the lake, taking the ax and a spear with him.
“He’s gone to spear a pickerel or some other fish,” said Boxy, and he was right, for it was not long before the colored boy returned with a beauty, weighing all of a pound and a half, which was soon broiling over the flames.
It was still snowing, and the boys had to fairly brush the flakes from what they were eating during the meal. Jack calculated that already three inches had fallen on the level.
“And before night we’ll have a foot or two of it unless it clears off,” he added. “So be lively, fellows!”
“Can we skate over the lake?” questioned Andy.