"Why don't you boys rig something to tow you up the hill?" asked Laura, laughing, and half hiding her face in her muff.
"Huh!" ejaculated her brother, coming up, too. "How'd we rig it, Sis?"
"Come on, Mother Wit!" laughed Lance. "You tell us."
"Why—I declare, Chet's got just the thing standing behind the door in his den," cried Laura, her eyes twinkling.
"What?" cried Chet. "You're fooling us. Laura. My snowshoes"
"Not them," laughed Laura, preparing to go on with her father.
"I know!" shouted Lance, slapping his chum suddenly on the back. He was as familiar with Chet's room as was Chet himself.
"Out with it, then!" demanded Chet.
"That big kite of yours. Wind's directly up the hill. We'll get it and try the scheme. Oh, you Mother Wit!" shouted Lance, after Laura. "We're going after the kite."
And that suggestion of Laura's was the beginning of Chet and Lance Darby's "mile-a-minute ice-boat"—but more of that wonderful invention later.
Laura was halted again before she reached Market Street, and her father went on without
