“But dinner——” began Fred.
“I’ll cook the turkeys and some potatoes while the others fix the room,” said Harry.
This was agreed to, and soon they had a fire blazing away in front of the lodge. To dry-pick the turkeys was not so easy, and all the small feathers had to be singed off. But Harry knew his business, and soon there was an appetizing odor floating to the noses of those on the roof of the lodge.
The young hunters thought the outing great sport, and while on the roof Joe and Fred got to snowballing each other. As a consequence, Joe received one snowball in his ear, and Fred, losing his balance, rolled from the roof into a snowbank behind the lodge.
“Hi! hi! let up there!” roared old Runnell. “This isn’t the play hour, lads. Work first and play afterward.”
“It’s no play to go headfirst in that snowbank,” grumbled Fred. “I’m as cold as an icicle!”
“All hands to dinner!” shouted Harry. “Don’t wait—come while everything is hot!”
“Right you are!” came from Joe, as he took a flying leap from the roof to the side of the fire. “Phew! but that turkey smells good, and so do the potatoes and coffee!”
They were soon eating with the appetite that comes only from hours spent in the open air in winter. Everything tasted “extra good,” as Fred put it, and they spent a good hour around the fire, picking the turkey bones clean. The turkeys had not been large, so that the meat was extra tender and sweet.
The roof of the lodge had been thoroughly cleaned, and now the boys were set to work to clean out the interior, and to start a fire in the open fireplace. In the meantime Joel Runnell procured some long strips of bark, and nailed these over the holes he had discovered. Over the broken-out window they fastened a flap of strong, but thin, white canvas in such a manner that it could be pushed aside when not wanted, and secured firmly during the night or when a storm was on.