“I believe that grove over further toward the river ought to have some fine nuts, and I don’t think any others have been after them, because it’s rather rough getting there,” suggested Frank, nodding toward the Harrapin River.
The entire party decided at once on going, for, like merry, happy young folks, it did not matter so very much that they found many nuts—not so much as the good time and the adventure of hunting for them.
Up and down, over little hillocks and through brush-covered glens, sometimes moving in a bunch and often moving single file through narrow places, they made their way through the woods until they came to the bank of the Harrapin and then turned upstream.
“There is the grove!” Frank pointed up the river a short distance, and, from where they stood, the little party saw that it was a fine grove for nutting.
Five minutes later they realized that Frank’s guess was good—that no one else had come through this rough woods to get the nuts.
In the meanwhile heavy clouds had drawn across the skies, finally permitting the broad expanse of gray, snow-filled clouds to predominate over the blue.
Several times Lanky and Frank looked up through the clearings and had noted the coming of a fall storm.
It was getting very much cooler, with the gray clouds hanging lower and lower, but the merry laughing and talking, jesting and snatches of song drowned out any thought or fear of getting caught in a storm.
The boys had filled their pockets and their hats with nuts, the hats having been set aside, all in a row beside a tree. And now the first little flakes of snow began falling.
“The first of winter,” said Ralph West. “It won’t be long before skating and sleighing will be fine.”