It had been a late spring and therefore although the buds were
swelling and a few pussy-willows venturing from their houses the
country was still in the grip of winter; great drifts buried
roadside and valley and continued to obstruct those highways where
travel was infrequent.

"There certainly is nothing very summerish about this New England
weather of yours, Bob," remarked Van, as, on alighting from the
train at Allenville, he buttoned closer his raccoon coat and stepped
into the waiting sleigh which had come to meet them.

"The State did not realize you were coming, old man; otherwise they
would have had some weather especially prepared for your benefit,"
Bob replied, springing into the sleigh beside his chum. "My, but
this is a jolly old pung! Hear it creak. I say," he leaned forward
to address the driver, "where did my father get this heirloom,
David?"

"Law, Mr. Bob, this ain't your father's," David drawled. "He ain't
got anything but wheeled vehicles in the barn, and not one of 'em
will be a mite of use till April. I borrowed this turnout of the
McMasters', who live a piece down the road; the foreman, you know.
It was either this or a straight sledge, and we happened to be using
the sledges collecting sap."

"Are you sugaring off already?" questioned Bob with evident
disappointment. "I understood Father to say we'd get here in time to
be in on that."