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!

Once at the top of the bank they found it rather easy following Jaroth through the woods.  And when they reached the road—­or the place where the highway would have been if the snow had not drifted over fences and all—­they met the party from the station bringing up food and other comforts for the snowbound passengers.  As the snow had really stopped falling it was expected that the plow would be along sometime the next day and then the train would be pulled back to the junction.

“But if this man has a roomy sled and good horses we shall not be cheated out of our visit to Mountain Camp,” Mr. Gordon said cheerfully.

The old farmhouse when they reached it certainly looked big enough to accommodate them all.  There was a wing thrown out on either side; but those wings were for use only in the summer.  There were beds enough and to spare in the main part of the house.

When they sat down to Mrs. Jaroth’s supper table Bob declared that quite evidently famine had not reached this retired spot.  The platters were heaped with fried ham and fried eggs and sausages and other staple articles.  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.

“That girl.  Ida Bellethorne.  If she came up here on a wild goose chase after her aunt, and found only a horse, what will become of her?”

“I haven’t the least idea,” confessed Bobby.

“Did she return before this blizzard set in, or is she still up here in the woods?  And what will become of her?”

“Gracious!” exclaimed the sleepy Bobby, “let’s go to sleep and think about Ida Bellethorne to-morrow.”

“And I wonder if it is possible that she can know anything about my locket,” was another murmured question of Betty’s.  But Bobby had gone fast asleep then and did not answer.

Under the radiance of the big oil lamp hanging above the kitchen table, the table itself covered with an old-fashioned red and white checked cloth, the young folks bound for Mountain Camp ate breakfast.  And such a breakfast!

Buckwheat cakes, each as big as the plate itself with “oodles of butter and real maple syrup,” to quote Bob.

“We don’t even get as good as this at Salsette,” said Tommy Tucker grimly.  “Oh, cracky!”