“Walk,” answered Carl with a faint smile. “How far is it from here?” “Twelve miles.” The two lads looked at each other and groaned. “Well, I don’t care so much, now that I’ve got thawed out a bit,” said Trevor. “How far do you think we have walked?” “I guess it’s about three miles from Whitely here.” “At that rate,” commented Carl dismally, “it will take us two hours longer to reach Hillton. And”--he glanced at the station clock--“it’s now twenty after six; say half-past eight.” The engineer and conductor were exchanging glances of amusement. Finally the conductor spoke again: “Well, I guess we can fix it so as you won’t have to walk. The through freight will be here in seven minutes, and I guess they’ll give you a lift. If they don’t you can ride down with us, although we won’t get there much before seven. We’re slow but sure, we are; twenty-eight cars of coal and a caboose.” The boys brightened and thanked the railroad men fervently. And then the station-master left the telegraph instrument and came out into the waiting-room. “It’s all right. I’ve put ’em on as far north as Yorkvale, and if he’s still on the yacht they’ll find him, I guess.” He turned to the conductor and added in lower tones: “Gregson, at Lorraine, says he’ll see that a party goes down right away; says he doesn’t believe a yacht could pass there to-night, as the river hasn’t had time to freeze much since they quit cutting at about four.” The conductor nodded. From far off came the long, shrill blast of a locomotive whistle, and the men drew on their coats, and presently, followed closely by Carl and Trevor, left the station. There was a flood of yellow light on the rails to the north, and the next instant the fast freight thundered by them for half its length, the brake shoes rasping deafeningly against the wheels. The matter was soon arranged, and Trevor and Carl found themselves sitting in the strange little caboose about a tiny stove that was almost red-hot, and telling their story to two of the train crew. And then, almost before they knew that they had got well started, the train slowed down, and they were tumbled out into the snow at the Hillton crossing, and, shouting their thanks after the scurrying car as it romped off again into the darkness, they took up the last stage of their journey. But now, aside from the anxiety they felt as to Dick’s fate, they were fairly comfortable and contented; and the prospect of supper--for it seemed to them that never before in the history of the world had two persons been so hungry--allowed them to view their coming interview with the principal with something approaching equanimity.