“Do traps have to be set in runs for wild animals?” asked Boxy.
“Da don’t hab to be, but it’s generally best; yo’ ketches dem quicker.”
After making traps, the boys began to play various games, such as throwing the knife, and who’s got the bean, and the like. In this manner time went by until it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon.
They had had a lunch at noon of crackers and cheese, expecting to wait until evening before getting another regularly cooked meal, but now both Andy and Boxy declared that they were hungry again, and it was voted that they should go out, stir up the waning fire and get ready to cook a bit of venison in the pot with several onions Pickles had been thoughtful enough to bring along.
“You see, we needn’t be afraid of the onions, because we are not going out in company this evening,” said Boxy, in imitation of a young society miss. “So, Mr. DeBrown won’t have a chance of catching my breath.”
“I wonder how things are at Rudskill,” remarked Harry.
“I suppose our folks keep thinking about us,” said Andy. “They’ll imagine we are completely snowed under and starving.”
“Yes, it’s a pity they don’t know we are so comfortable,” put in Jack. “A good shelter, and plenty to eat are big things out here just now.”
“Hark!” cried Pickles, who stood by the doorway, ready to go out. “What am dat?”
“I don’t hear anything,” said Andy, after a brief pause.