“I can’t cook no supper widout a pot or a kettle,” added Pickles, dubiously.
“And we won’t have supper until we have our things back,” returned Harry, quickly. “I’m not going to sit still and have my blankets and the rest stolen.”
“Nor I! Nor I!” shouted the others.
“Most likely it was tramps,” commented Boxby. “I wonder how many of them.”
“Light up some torches and we’ll take a look around,” ordered Harry, and the suggestion was carried out with all possible haste.
But the search, minute as it was, revealed but little. Every article of value had been carried off, the oven destroyed, and evidence was not wanting to show that the marauders had tried in several places to ruin the hut.
“It’s a burning shame!” burst out Andy. “It was bad enough to steal the things, without ruining what was left.”
“It’s a piece of maliciousness, that’s just what it is,” returned Boxby. “It looks like the work of a personal enemy.”
“But we haven’t any personal enemies up here,” said Andy. “We left them behind in Rudskill.”
“Ain’t it mos’ too dark to go aftah dem fellers?” asked Pickles.