"I was just thinking of something," gurgled Amy. "This is Saturday, you know, and we always have cold lamb for supper on Saturdays. I hate cold lamb."
"I don't see where the joke comes in," grumbled Clint.
"Why, I don't have to eat the lamb, do I? Isn't that funny?"
"No, it isn't. I could eat cold--cold--cold dog! Come on. We might as well walk as sit here and freeze to death."
"I've read," said Amy, "that freezing was a pleasant death, but it doesn't seem so. Maybe, though, it's painful just at first." He arose with a groan and followed Clint down the slope. There were more briers, and now and then they stumbled over outcropping rocks. The field seemed interminable, but after awhile Clint bumped into a wall. They climbed over it and started on again.
"If there was only a moon," said Clint, "it would help some. You can't see a blessed thing."
"If there was a moon it wouldn't get through the clouds. It feels to me as if it might rain."
"You certainly have cheerful thoughts," Clint grumbled. "I wonder if it would do any good if we yelled."
"We might try it. Suppose we give the Brimfield cheer, Clint."
"Oh, shut up! You make me tired, Amy. Come on, now. Yell as loud as you can. All ready?"