"Of course—lots of things will happen!" laughed Betty, Grace and Mollie having gotten out of the boat to stroll about a bit. "We'll have a nice walk home, and a good hot supper, and then we'll sit about the fireplace and roast apples and marshmallows, and talk about this."
"That listens good," observed Will rather sarcastically, "but it may be a long while before you're sitting before your own fireside, or we in front of ours."
"Well, you don't need to make the announcement of that fact; do you?" asked Allen, as he straightened out some of the running tackle of the sail.
"So that's the way the wind lies; eh?" asked Will in a queer tone. "What's the answer, old man?"
"Just this," replied Allen. "We may not be able to go on in the boat. I thought this was only a snow squall, but it seems to be turning into a regular blizzard. You know we can't glide over the ice when it's covered with snow. We may have to walk back to camp, and it's no small stretch. What I mean is that we've got to keep up the courage of the girls. That's all."
He and Will and Frank were out of the boat now, fixing one of the ropes that had gotten out of place, so Betty and Amy, who remained cuddled up in the soft and warm robes, did not hear the talk.
"So that's the game—bluff?" asked Will.
"Somewhat—yes. I'm going to try to start off again, but I don't know how far we'll get. Where's Grace and Mollie?"
"Hey—Grace!" cried Will, raising his voice. "We're going to start!"
"All right!" floated back the answer through the storm.