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Updated: May 15, 2025
Otherwise there were no casualties, and the pung flew past the Jaroth house a little before eleven to the great amazement of the whole family, who ran out to watch the coasting party. "I don't know how Jonathan Canary will recover his pung," said Mr. Gordon when they alighted on the level ground.
These and the hot biscuit disappeared like snow before a hot sun in April. Altogether it was a joyous evening that they spent at the Jaroth house. Yet as Betty and Bobby cuddled up together in the bed which they shared, Betty expressed a certain fear which had been bothering her for some time. "I wonder where she is, Bobby?" Betty said thoughtfully. "Where who is?" demanded her chum sleepily.
She started for the door of the hut. Bob hopped out after her in a hurry. And he took with him the snow-shovel Jaroth had brought along to use in clearing the drifts away if they chanced to get stuck. "You'd better look out," said Jaroth, still standing undecided in the snow. "For what?" asked Bob, hurrying to get before Betty. "That crying don't sound natural. Might he a ha'nt. Can't tell."
Bolter's black mare." "Mr. Bolter's mare?" repeated Ida. "Now, tell me!" urged the excited Betty. "Didn't you come to Cliffdale to look for your aunt?" "Yes. That I did. But she isn't up here at all." By this time Uncle Dick and the others were gathered about the door of the hut. Jaroth, with a glance now and then at his horses, had even stepped inside.
The hut, buried in the snow to a point far above its eaves, was built against a steep hillside at the edge of the wood, with the drifted road passing directly before its door. When the pung drew up before it and the horses stopped with a sudden shower of tinkling bell-notes, Mr. Jaroth shouted: "Hey, Bill! Hey, Bill Kedders!" There was no direct reply to this hail.
In half an hour the party was off, Betty and her friends bundled up and carrying their bags while Mr. Gordon followed and Fred Jaroth led the way on his snowshoes and carrying two suitcases. He said they helped balance him and made the track through the snow firmer. As for Nero, he cavorted like a wild dog, and that, Bobby said, proved he was a wolf!
"That is a girl or a woman in there," Bob declared. "Huh!" exclaimed Bobby sharply. "It might be a boy. Boys cry sometimes." "Really?" said Timothy. "But you never read of crying boys except in humorous verses. They are not supposed to cry." "Well," said Betty, suddenly hopping out of the sleigh, "we'll never find out whether it is a girl or a boy if we wait for Mr. Jaroth, it seems."
Ought to start right early in the morning, though." "Do you suppose you could get us over to your house to-night?" asked Mr. Gordon quickly. "There are a good many of us " "How many in the party?" asked the young man. "My name's Jaroth Fred Jaroth." Mr. Gordon handed him his card and said: "There are four girls, four boys, and myself. Quite a party." "That is all right, Mr.
Burned down the shack itself to keep you warm, I reckon!" chuckled Jaroth. "Well, we'd better take this girl along with us, hadn't we, Mr. Gordon? She'll set fire to the timber next, if we don't, after she's used up the shack." "We most surely will take her along to Mountain Camp," declared Betty's uncle. "But what puzzles me, is how she ever got here to this, lonely place."
"I was trying to find the Candace Farm," choked Ida Bellethorne. "I want to know!" said Jaroth. "That's the stockfarm where they pasture so many sportin' hosses. Candace, he makes a good thing out of it. But it's eight miles from here and not in the direction we're going, Mr. Gordon." "We will take her along to Mountain Camp," said Uncle Dick. "One more will not scare Mrs. Canary, I am sure."
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