Lance Darby, a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked lad, who was Chet’s particular chum, was ahead and he came, puffingly, to a stop just before Laura.
“This is great—if it wasn’t for the ‘getting back again.’ Good-morning, Mr. Belding.”
“Why don’t you boys rig something to tow you up the hill?” asked Laura, laughing, and half hiding her face in her muff.
“Huh!” ejaculated her brother, coming up, too. “How’d we rig it, Sis?”
“Come on, Mother Wit!” laughed Lance. “You tell us.”
“Why—I declare, Chet’s got just the thing standing behind the door in his den,” cried Laura, her eyes twinkling.
“What?” cried Chet “You’re fooling us, Laura. My snowshoes——”
“Not them,” laughed Laura, preparing to go on with her father.
“I know!” shouted Lance, slapping his chum suddenly on the back. He was as familiar with Chet’s room as was Chet himself.
“Out with it, then!” demanded Chet.