They bathed, dressed, and almost before they knew it were at the table partaking of a hearty breakfast which was capped by heaps of golden brown pancakes rendered even more golden by the sea of maple-syrup in which they floated.
"I'll never be able to climb anything after this meal," Van gasped as he left the table and was thrusting his arms into his sweater.
Bob grinned.
"Don't expect us back before late afternoon, Father," he called over his shoulder. "We've a long slow climb ahead of us because of the snow. Probably we shall find it drifted in lots of places. Then we shall want some time at the top of the mountain, you know. Besides, we're going to stop and cook chops, and that will delay us. So don't worry if we don't turn up much before dinner time."
"You're sure you know the trail, Bob?" his mother called as the trampers went down the steps.
"Why, Mother dear, what a question! Know the trail? Haven't I climbed that mountain so many times that I could go up it backwards and with my eyes shut?"
"I guess that's true, Mother," agreed Mr. Carlton reassuringly.
"Good-bye, then," said Bob's mother. "Have a fine day and don't freeze your noses."
The boys waved, and with a scuff of their snow-shoes were off.
The climb was indeed a stiff one. At first the trail led through low, flat woods, fragrant with hemlock and balsam; here it was sheltered and warm. But soon the real ascent began.