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.

"Of course I know my way, all right," he insisted. "Still, it is
mighty different in winter from what it is at other seasons of the
year, I'll admit that. Remember, I've never climbed this hill when
the snow was on the ground. However, when we once get to the top the
coming down will be a cinch, because we can follow our own tracks."