So they did, and the whole procession disappeared, to its last boy, between the jaws of that deep, jagged, gloomy ravine. That is, it would have been gloomy if everything around it had not been so green, and if it had been evening instead of afternoon.
Away up to within twenty or thirty rods of the upper end of the Gulch, and then Tinker Bradley halted, with just enough of breath left to shout: "There it is! Didn't I tell you?"
Straight before them, as they turned their eyes to the right, where he pointed, was a great wide fissure, cloven in the rock. Above, it was almost closed over by a leaning crag, and the upper edges, sixty feet from the bottom, were thickly lined with hemlocks and cedar bushes. Nobody could guess how deep it went in, for it was packed full half way up with what was as nearly like ice as anything they had ever seen. No sunshine could reach it. The rocks and trees protected it. It was a great natural ice-house, and was doing its duty capitally.
"That ain't the North Pole."
"Then Professor Hackleman don't know, that's all. He said it was a place where the snow and ice didn't melt in May."
"Woof! Ur-r-r-r-r! Woof!"
Soddy Corcoran's dog was with his master again, and had seated himself in the shadow of a big stone to give his opinion of Tinker Bradley's discovery.
"You're right, me boy!" exclaimed Soddy. "That's one April-fool, and you're another."
"Isn't it all there—the ice and the snow? And didn't I show you the three woodchuck holes?"
"'Dade an' you did. It's worth comin' to see any day."