"Feels some like snow, doesn't it?" inquired Dick, looking up at a lead-colored sky.
"It'll rain," predicted Dave. "It isn't yet cold enough for snow."
"I'll be mighty glad when the snow comes."
"Maybe I won't," uttered Darrin. "That's the best time of the year—winter."
"Unless you call summer the finest time."
"Of course in summer we have the long vacation and plenty of time to have fun."
"Better duck," advised Dick suddenly. "Here comes Mrs. Dexter now."
"Looks as though she'd been crying, too," murmured Dave, scanning the approaching woman.
"Then we won't scoot," advised Dick, changing front instantly. "It doesn't look very fine to run away from any one who's in trouble."
Strangely enough Mrs. Dexter didn't appear, at first, to want to talk with the boys. She nodded, smiled wanly and said: