They chatted on other subjects besides the mystery of the old lady's lost souvenir spoons.
The matter of outdoor sports was much in their minds those days, when sleepy old Scranton was waking from her Rip Van Winkle nap of twenty years, and girding herself to accomplish a few things on the diamond and the gridiron.
So they drew gradually nearer to the famous Hobson mill-pond, where for generations the boys of Scranton had been accustomed to swim and fish in the good old summer time, and skate in the winter, the canal leading close to its location.
The old mill was no longer in use, but with its moss-covered wheel made a very picturesque sight that artists often painted with delight.

The pond itself was of fair size, and surrounded with trees and bushes.

In fact, it was quite a lake.

On one side there stood a large ice-house, and when the surface of the pond was covered with a foot of clear firm ice, many of the residents of the town had their supply cut and stored in places built partly underground, in order that they might have all the ice they wanted through the dog days.
Hugh and Thad had almost arrived at the mill-pond when they suddenly heard loud voices.

There was screaming in shrill tones that would indicate the presence of children near by.
"What does all that row mean, Hugh ?" snapped Thad, looking suddenly interested.
"They're playing around the pond, those kids, and like as not one of them may have fallen in! Let's get a move on us and see!" Hugh seemed to be of the same opinion, for he started on a rapid gallop.