“Goody, goody!” exclaimed little Philip, as his feet landed on the floor.  “Maybe we’ll have some Christmas, too.”

“Maybe we will,” said Henry, smiling at him.  “At least we will have something to eat.”

“Well, let’s start right away then,” urged George.

This brought Henry face to face with a dilemma.  “I have only one pair of snow-shoes,” he said at last, “and you probably don’t know how to use them anyway, and you can’t walk on the snow.”

“I have a sled,” suggested George.

“That won’t do,” said Henry.  “I’ve got to have something that won’t sink in the snow—­that will lie flat, so I can draw you along.”

“How about that table?” said the girl.

“Good suggestion,” cried Henry.

It was nothing but a common kitchen table.  He turned it upside down, took his Scout axe from its sheath, knocked the legs off, fastened a piece of clothesline to the butts of two of them.

“Now if I could have something to turn up along the front, so as not to dig into the snow,” he said, “it would be fine.”  He thought a moment.  “Where is that sled of yours, George?”

“Here,” said George, dragging it forth.  The runners curved upwards.  Henry cut them off, in spite of Philip’s protests.  He nailed these runners to the front of the table and stretched rope tightly across them so that he had four up-curves in front of the table.

“Now I want something to stretch on these things, so as to let the sled ride over the snow, instead of digging into it,” he said to the girl.

She brought him her father’s old “slicker.”  Henry cut it into suitable shape and nailed and lashed it securely to the runners and to the table top.  Now he had a flat-bottomed sled with a rising front to it that would serve.  He smiled as he looked at the queer contrivance and said aloud:  “I wish Mr. Lesher could see that!”

“Who is Mr. Lesher?” asked George.

“Oh, he’s my Scoutmaster back in Ohio.  Now come on!”

He opened the door, drew the sled outside, pushed it up on the snow and stepped on it.  It bore his weight perfectly.

“It’s all right,” he cried.  “But it won’t take all three of you at once.”

“I’ll wait,” said Mary, “you take the two boys.”

“Very well,” said Henry.

“You’ll surely come back for me?”

“Surely, and I think it’s mighty brave of you to stay behind.  Now come on, boys,” he said.

Leaving Mary filled with pleasure at such praise, he put the two boys carefully into the sled, stepped into his snow-shoes and dragged them rapidly across the prairie.  It was quite dark now, but the sky was clear and the stars were bright.  The storm had completely stopped.  He remembered the bearings he had taken by the stars, and reached the high hill without difficulty.  Below him lay the car.

Presently he drew up before the platform.  He put the boys in the car, told them to go up to the fire and warm themselves and not to touch anything.  Then he went back for the girl.