"Run along. Be home early. Don't skate too far out. Don't get lost. Don't get caught in a snowstorm. I'm sure there's one coming up. I know the signs. My lumbago is troubling me again to-day. Don't forget to come back in time for tea."
Aunt Gertrude's favorite word was "don't" and she persisted in treating her nephews as though they were but a grade advanced from kindergarten. Mrs. Hardy was out for the afternoon and in her absence the worthy spinster rejoiced in her opportunity to exercise her authority. When she had exhausted her store of admonitions, the boys departed, and she watched them from the door with gloomy forebodings as to the ultimate outcome of their skating trip. Aunt Gertrude was a pessimist of the first water.
When the Hardy boys reached the foot of the street they found Chet Morton, rotund and jovial, and Jerry Gilroy, tall and red-cheeked, awaiting them.
"Just going to start without you," declared Chet, swinging his skates.
"We had a letter from dad and we were so interested in reading it that we mighty near forgot about the trip," confessed Frank.
"Where is he?"
"Out in Montana, in a mining camp, working on a case."
"Gosh, he's lucky!" said Jerry enviously.
"I'll say he is," agreed Frank. "Joe and I have just been wishing we could be out there with him."
"Well, we can't have everything," Chet said cheerfully. "Come on—I'll race you to Willow River."