Bob was the first to get to his feet. Shaking the snow out of his
hair and collar he called:

"Get up, you--unless you want to be swallowed up for life. My eye,
but you're a sight! If your mother could only see you now. Well,
your feet are out, if you did have to get in all over to do it. Now
step lively if you don't want to get stuck again. You are a peach,
I must say!"

Van took the banter good-naturedly.

"That's what one might call being buried alive," he answered. "Lucky
it wasn't you! I'm tall and could keep my head out; but the mire
would long since have closed over an abbreviated person like
yourself and you would have been seen no more."

Bob winced. He was sensitive about his height.

Clambering up on the rock beside his chum Van scooped up a handful
of clean snow and with it washed his hands and face.

"There!" he said at length. "I'm just as tidy as if it had not
happened."

"I can't exactly agree with you," replied Bob, "but I guess you'll
have to do. Come on now. Goodness only knows where David and the
sledge have got to by this time."

They hurried up the hill.