ber wagon which had brought them and their outfit over.
"Phew! but aint it cold!" exclaimed Tom, dancing around and slapping his arms over his chest. "I wonder how Nellie and Grace Laning like this?"
"I'll wager you've been thinking of Nellie all the way up," said Dick slyly, remembering how his brother had tormented him about Dora Stanhope.
"Couldn't think of anything but how cold it was," growled Tom, but his face took on a sudden redness. "Where do you go next?" he demanded, to change the subject.
"Let's go over to the store and ask for Mr. John Barrow," suggested Dick.
The store was at a fork in the roads, and thither they hurried, to get inside, for the ride from Barton's Corners had certainly been a chilling one. In the store they found a big pot stove throwing out a generous amount of heat, and around this stove were gathered half a dozen men, smoking and telling stories.
"So you are the young men who are looking for John Barrow," said the storekeeper, after listening to what Dick had to say. "He was here waiting for you, and he'll be back in a bit. Rather a cold ride, eh? Draw up to the fire and warm up."
