"Every inch of it: I asked him. Now, why couldn't we go in for a mess of pickerel?"
"And a grand sleigh-ride!" exclaimed Corry.
"And an old-fashioned winter picnic!" added aunt Sarah Farnham. "How would you like that, Susie?"
"A winter picnic! I never heard of such a thing. How do you do it? Seems to me it would be splendid, if you could."
"A picnic, a picnic!" shouted Pen. "Fishing through the ice, Susie, and—and—there's ever so many other things.—Mother, can we go?"
Vosh Stebbins had spoken only about the pickerel, but the larger enterprise was what had really been upon his mind. Before he went home it had been thoroughly discussed, and pretty well arranged for.
"Corry," said Port after Vosh went away, "what sort of a place is Mink Lake?"
"It's the prettiest kind of a lake. It's a great place to go to in summer,—just crowded with fish."
"Is it far?"
"About eight or nine miles, right through the woods and around among the mountains. Crookedest road you ever saw. It's apt to be snowed up in winter; but we haven't had any deep snow yet, and it hasn't drifted much, somehow."