“Bully!” cried Steve. “We’ll fix it. Haskins, you’re a wonder!” And the older councillor smiled more proudly still.
And fix it they did, finally. One side of it was laid on a row of the empty boxes and held in place by stones. At the other corners they fixed poles—or what answered for poles; one was a long branch and the other an eight-foot board,—binding the canvas to them with bits of string and wire, and sinking the other ends in the gravel at the edge of the pit. Fortunately, there was no wind, or their improvised lean-to would soon have toppled down. As it was it was by no means large enough to shelter more than half their number, but it did make a fairly dry place in which to serve supper.
Steve took Sam and they hurried off in search of birch-trees. At first it seemed that birch was the one variety of tree which did not grow in the vicinity of Centennial Park, but at last, far down near the railroad track, they descried a group showing ghostlike in the fast-gathering twilight, and it took them but a minute or so to circle the trees with their knives and pull off strips of the bark. When they turned back each had a good armful. Then they set about starting the fires. Steve whittled a pile of shavings from a piece of fairly dry pine board under the shelter, tore some of the birch-bark into small strips, and then laid the fire on the gravel a few feet from the lean-to and applied a match. The bark sizzled and curled and flamed, the shavings caught, and Steve fed the blaze with the driest of his wood. There was a doubtful minute, but at last the fire took hold with a roar, and the boys, who had begun to gather about, sent up a cheer. Mr. Gifford and several of the older youths appeared with cooking utensils and food and took possession of the shelter. Two more fires were started from the first, and soon what had appeared a half-hour before to be a rather hopeless and depressing scene took on an air of cheerfulness and comfort.
Kitty-Bett had provided plenty of cold meat, bread and butter, and hard-boiled eggs. There were doughnuts, too, dozens and dozens of them, and those the boys devoured first, last, and all the time. There was bacon ready for the frying, but Mr. Gifford wisely decided not to attempt to cook it under the circumstances. But three huge kettles of tea were brewed, cans of condensed milk were punctured, sugar and tin spoons were passed around, and a deep and all-pervading silence held for many minutes, a silence only accentuated by infrequent remarks, short and crisp: “Sugar, Billy!” “Pass this along, Tom.” “Meat, please!”
When the first pangs of hunger had been quieted, conversation began briskly. At least half the boys narrated their personal adventures and experiences, boasted of blistered heels and tired muscles. Very kindly, the rain had decreased to a fine drizzle that was scarcely more than a heavy mist, and the twenty or so boys who were unable to crowd under the tarpaulin ate in some comfort, curled up on the ground in their raincoats. From time to time the fires were replenished, more lazily as the warmth and food and the good hot tea began to have effect. Kitty-Bett had provided with a lavish hand. Had he not done so the prospect of breakfast in the morning would have looked dark, for there were never forty-three healthier appetites gathered together than those which the “Reds” and the “Blues” finally managed to appease that evening!
At last, when no one could hold another crumb, the fellows toppled against each other and the talk grew fainter and fainter and ever more murmurous, until, finally, a full-fledged snore broke forth, and the sleepy youths roused themselves with a laugh.
“McDowell’s suggestion is a good one,” said Mr. Langham. “I vote we accept it, fellows. Who’s for bed?”
Yawns of assent answered, and Ed Thursby, rising unsteadily to his feet, collided with one of the poles which held up the tarpaulin. Down came the shelter with a swish of wet canvas, sparks flew from the fires, and some twenty boys disappeared from sight amidst shouts of laughter from those outside. Out they came, rolling or crawling, and the party set off for bed.
Bare boards, even when softened by a raincoat and a single thickness of blanket, do not make a downy couch, but no complaints were heard. One by one, with shoes for a pillow, the tired boys dropped off to sleep. Over them blew the damp night air, and from the roof and trees came the steady patter of rain-drops. And from forty-three motionless, blanket-wrapped forms came evidences of healthy slumber.