They shuffled on.
"I'll be glad when this luncheon is inside instead of outside of me, won't you?" puffed Bob. "It's almighty heavy to carry."
"It isn't the lunch I mind. It's all these infernal clothes," was Van's retort. "I don't see what on earth I wore so many things for."
"You'll want them by and by."
"I bet I won't!" protested Van. "I'm going to tie my red sweater to this tree and leave it here; I can't be bothered with so much stuff."
"You'll be cold when you get to the top."
"No, I won't. And anyway I'd rather be too cold then than too hot now. One's no better than the other."
Deaf to Bob's counsel Van resolutely wound the offending sweater about a great white birch tree that stood at a fork of the path.
"You'll be sorry," was Bob's parting thrust as they plodded on.
The trail was now steep and so narrow that frequently Bob had to stop and search for the blazing on the trees.