BY ELIZABETH S. HICOK.
The boys worked hard that day, carrying sticks and dragging logs from the woods that bordered the banks of the Curve. The Curve was one of the many bends in the river that began its journey far up among the hills, whose summits could be seen from the town of Landon on a clear day.
The Rambler had evidently started out in life with no definite plans as to its future course, except, perhaps, the one purpose of seeking an easy, pleasant way. To accomplish this it wandered in and out, and formed many little bays and inlets as it flowed carelessly along. At all seasons it offered irresistible attractions to the boys fortunate enough to live near it. What swimming holes could be compared with those of the Curve and the Dip? Where could better fishing be found than at the Angle? Could there be a cooler place to rest on a hot day, after a good pull at the oars, than under one of the stone arches of the bridge that spanned the river two miles above the town? In fact, at almost any time of year if a Landon boy was not around when wanted, it was pretty safe to conclude that the river was responsible for his absence.
But now it is winter. Though there is but a thin mantle of snow on the ground, the reeds and cat-tails are frozen stiff in the ice, and the willows look more dejected than ever, as they droop their bare slender branches to the ice-covered stream. But this winter scene is not a dreary one to a boy fond of skating, and the ice for miles up and down the river is as smooth as glass. The party at the Curve numbers sixteen, and they are all skaters.
It was a queer collection of wood that the boys had brought together—logs, large and small, branches of trees, and underbrush—but it suited their purpose.
"We have worked long enough," said Ralph Waring, a tall, overgrown lad, who was leaning lazily against a tree.
"We?" laughed a small energetic boy, pushing with all his strength against a large log that refused to move. "We!"
"Well, you, then," said the first speaker, good-naturedly. "Mr. Hastings did not bargain for this, I'll wager, when he said we could have all the wood we could use. We'd better go into the lumber business, with such a good start."
"Ralph is right," said Gordon Brice. "We have now more wood than we need. Besides, it is four o'clock. If we are to meet here at seven we must lay the logs and brush ready to light, and hurry home for a rest and something to eat. I'm tired as a horse and hungry as a bear."
The boys set to work again, Ralph doing his share, and soon a large cone-shaped pile stood in a cleared space near the shore.