“Are you the only ones who want to go?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” returned MacIlvaine. “Sherman’s away, and Wes has a cold. The others all thought–”
“Cold feet!” stated Oliver, derisively, running his fingers through a thatch of bright, red hair. “They’re afraid they might get a chill.”
“Not much danger of that when you’re around, Pete,” laughed the scoutmaster. “Well, you boys had better come in and wait. It’ll take me ten or fifteen minutes to get ready.”
He appeared in rather less than that time, sweatered, mackinawed, with high, laced boots, woolen cap, and heavy gloves. Over one shoulder swung his blanket-roll, and strapped to his back was a good-sized haversack of provisions. He knew from experience that some one was sure to have forgotten something, so he always went prepared to supply deficiencies.
It was a joyous, hilarious bunch that made their way through the town and out along the Beldon Turnpike. Most of them had their staves, and two had brought snow-shoes along. Their attempts to use these unfamiliar articles occasioned much amusement among the others.
It took the better part of two hours to reach the cabin. The snow had drifted considerably, and the road was scarcely broken through. After they reached the woods the going was especially hard, and a general shout of rejoicing went up as the first sight of the sloping, snow-covered roof loomed up through the twilight. When the door was unlocked they entered with a rush, packs and blanket-rolls were dropped, and a fire started at once. When this was blazing merrily, Mr. Curtis divided the boys into two squads, one of which undertook preparations for supper and straightened up the cabin generally, while the others scraped a path through the snow down to the shore of the lake.
There were minor mishaps, of course, in the culinary department. A few chops were burned, and the baked potatoes resembled lumps of charcoal rather than things edible. But there was plenty for all, and nothing had ever tasted so good as the supper eaten there on the floor before the dancing flames. Afterward, when things were cleared away and the boys sprawled out on their blankets before the fireplace, the two lanterns were extinguished and only the red glow of the fire illumined the half-circle of eager young faces. The wailing of the wind in the pines and the soft, whispering beat of snow against the windows served only to intensify the cozy warmth and cheer of the cabin. Instinctively the boys drew closer together and, snuggling in their blankets, discussed for a space the unbelievable stupidity of any sane person preferring a humdrum evening at home to this. Then some one besought Mr. Curtis to tell a story.
“What kind of a story?” asked the scoutmaster, smiling.
“Oh, a ghost story, of course!” urged several voices at once.