“I say!” he cried. “It’s all breaking away an’ the moon is coming out.”
“Sho!” cried the farmer. “You don’t say so?”
“That settles it!” cried Old King Brady. “We’ll take a trip on snowshoes, anyway!”
The farmer made no further demur. For himself he couldn’t see the sense of it.
“But city folks does hev queer ways,” he remarked to his wife.
Two pairs of snowshoes were brought out.
The Bradys first indulged in a hearty meal as prepared by the good housewife.
Then they sallied forth.
Warmly wrapped they did not feel the chill air. The moon had appeared high in the heavens and the air was sublime.
Over the drifted fields the detectives made their way.