“Hello, Pop!” she panted, as she stooped to unlace the snowshoes. “My! but that was fun. We raced from the edge of the woods all the way up here, and I beat Dave.”
“Yes, she got ahead of me,” said David, as with a lift of his foot and a twist of his ankle he freed himself from his snowshoes.
“You must teach me that hitch, Dave. I always have to unfasten mine.”
“That’s the Micmac hitch. My old guide Tommy showed me that,” replied David, picking up the racquettes and entering the house with Swickey.
“What was you racin’ fur?—Supper?” queried Avery, winking at David.
Swickey glanced at David and laughed. “He will tell you, Pop. He lost.”
“I think the winner should treat, don’t you, Avery?”
“Sure certain!”
“All right,” said Swickey, unbuttoning her coat and tossing it to a chair. She ran to her father and kissed him.
“Huh! You didn’t race goin’ to Jim’s, did you?” said the old man, holding her at arm’s length and admiring her deepening color. Her eyes brimmed with mischief.