"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." "That thing would never burn; but the brush will. Sling me the knife and I'll cut an armful. Let's build it in that little rocky shelter. Thanks to my camping training I'm right at home on this job." Van's boast was no idle one. Soon the fire was crackling merrily and the chops and bacon were sizzling in the frying-pan. Bob unpacked the sandwiches and the thermos bottle of hot chocolate. It was a regal luncheon. How good everything tasted! "I believe I was cold," Van admitted, rubbing his hands over the dying embers of the blaze. "But I'm warm as toast now. Is there any more grub left to eat?" "Not a crumb--why? Are you still hungry?" queried Bob who was packing up the camping kit. Van chuckled. "Well, not exactly. I only thought we ought not to waste anything." Bob glanced up and laughed; then his face grew sober. "I say, there's a snowflake!" he cried. "And another! Jove, Van, it's begun to snow!" "We better be getting down, I suppose," drawled Van. "Just that, old man; fast as we can, too. Come on." "What's your hurry? It will be a lark." "It will be no lark if it snows much--I'll tell you that," replied Bob seriously. "Besides, the folks will worry. Come ahead."