Ruth Spellman was inside the log structure.
In a twinkling the whole company was grouped around the front of the building.
“Why don’t you go in?” demanded the Doctor, pressing impatiently forward.
“You forget the latchstring is inside,” reminded Scout Master Hall.
“What difference does that make? Is this a time to hesitate? Let’s break in the door! Make room for me and I’ll do it!”
Mike Murphy, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes ran to the little window a few paces beyond the door and peered through the panes.
“Sunbeam is there!” shouted Mike, “and nothing is the matter with her!”
Before he could explain further, there was a crash. The impact of Doctor Spellman’s powerful shoulder carried the staple which held the latch from its fastenings and the door swung inward. Through it swarmed the Boy Scouts, the physician and his wife in the lead.
In front of the broad fireplace, where the embers had long died, sat Uncle Elk in his rocking chair, silent, motionless and with head bowed. Seated on his knees, with her curls half hiding her pretty face and resting against his massive chest, was Ruth Spellman, sleeping as sweetly as if on her cot at home.
With a glad cry, the mother rushed forward and flung her arms about the child, sobbing with joy.