cold
reception!" cried Randy.

"Never mind the cold reception!" exclaimed Spouter, who was gazing out
of the window at the scenery. "Just look at this truly wonderful
picture! See those hillsides with massive pines, and those clusters of
bushes, all bent down with their weight of snow. And see how the
sunshine sparkles, making each snowdrop look like a diamond. It's a
wonderful sight, and it fills one's soul with a feeling of awe and
admiration for--"

"Hurrah! Spouter has come into his own again," cried Andy. "That's
right, Spout, warm up good, and maybe you'll help warm this car."

"If those snowdrops were really diamonds, Spouter, what do you thing
they'd be worth a dozen?" came from Randy.

"Aw, that's just like you fellows!" grumbled the would-be orator, in
disgust. "You haven't any poetry in your souls."

"Haven't any poetry in my soul?" cried Andy. "You bet I have--tons and
tons of it! Just listen to this," and he chanted gayly:

"I love to see a snowdrop
Ahanging on a tree,
Aglistening in the sunshine
As happy as can be."

"Great red-headed snakes!" burst out Jack. "Andy has turned poet!"

"Don't you think you ought to take something for it, Andy? Cough
mixture, or measles eradicator, or something like that?" questioned
Fred.

"I think what he needs is a good dose of codliver oil, served hot," came
from Gif.

"No codliver oil for me!" cried the fun-loving Rover. "You deal that out
to Spouter. It will help oil his tongue and make his flow of oratory
better."

"Speaking of cough mixtures, I think I'll get a bottle of some sort when
we get to Timminsport if they have a drugstore," said Jack. "Some of us
may catch cold and need it."

With such talk going on, the journey continued. They were now running
for a small station named Enwood, where they were to pick up two extra
cars from a small side road coming down from the north. In this section
there was a good deal of snow, and the train, consequently, had to run
rather slowly.

"I think I could get out and walk almost as fast as this train is
moving," remarked Spouter presently.

"It isn't as bad as that, Spouter," returned Jack, looking out of the
window. "We are making at least fifteen miles an hour, and you couldn't
hoof it as quick as that."

"It certainly seems awfully slow," remarked Fred. He was beginning to
grow sleepy, and now he rested his head on the back of the seat and
closed his eyes.

"Perhaps we won't b