"Oh, thunder! Got a knife, Bob?" he called. "This darn thing's busted. I'll have to haul to for repairs." Bob stopped impatiently. "Why didn't you look at it before you started?" he said. "Never thought of it, Old Preparedness," was the good-natured reply. "No matter, I have some string and I think I can fix it." It took some time, however, to make the fastening to the shoe and moccasin secure, and in the meantime the sun went behind a cloud. "I guess Father wasn't a very good weather prophet," remarked Bob, glancing at the sky. "It seems to be clouding up." "Don't fret. What do we care?" was Van's easy answer. "We're not really after the view. I don't give a hurrah for what we see when we get to the top; what I want is the fun of doing it." They shuffled on. "I'll be glad when this luncheon is inside instead of outside of me, 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." It was nearly two o'clock before the boys reached the top of the mountain. Over the landscape hung a mass of heavy gray clouds beneath which the sun was hidden; the wind was cutting as a knife, and while Van sought the shelter of an old shack Bob roamed about, delighting in the familiar scene. "Why don't you come over here and look at the view?" he called to his companion. "It is fairly clear in spite of the clouds." Van shivered. "Oh, I don't want to. I don't care a hang for the view--I told you that before. I'm just hungry. Let's get a fire going and cook the chops. What do you say?" "You're cold. I said you would be." "I'm not. I'm starved, though. Where can we get some wood?" Bob glanced about. "There seems to be plenty of undergrowth down in that hollow. Take my knife and cut away some of it. There's a piece of an old stump, too, that ought to burn well if it isn't too wet."