"Certainly. It will be more fun walking, anyhow."
"Spoken like a true hero," said Will in his ear.
"The boat can't go if the snow gets very deep," observed Frank.
"And it is getting heavier every minute," declared Amy, looking over the side of the cockpit of the ice boat, and brushing some of the white crystals from the frozen surface of the river. "There's nearly half an inch now," and she shivered slightly.
"Are you cold, dear?" asked Betty, passing over a spare blanket, for they had brought along plenty of coverings and wraps.
"No, not exactly cold, Betty, but——"
"Don't say you're worried, my dear," whispered Betty, as she tucked some stray strands of hair under her Tam-o'-Shanter. "Grace is so nervous lately," went on Betty, under pretense of wrapping the robe around Amy. "I don't know what is the matter with her, but she seems to fly to pieces if you look at her."
"Perhaps it's worry about this lumber camp business."
"It may be. Anyhow we don't want to get her alarmed. We may have hard enough time as it is."
"Oh, Betty! Do you think—anything will—happen?"