"Three cheers for Smith!" came from the others.
"Thanks," was all Smith said, then he sat down and Mr. Allen took the floor. He had caught his cue from what Smith had said:
"Fellows, I think we, too, have made a mistake, and as long as Smith has been man enough to square himself with us, let us be men enough to square ourselves with him. We have always called him Sleepy, and he has been true to the name; but I never knew a boy yet who didn't live up to what his best friends expected of him. Smith always knew we didn't expect much, didn't you, boy? Now, let's expect more, and we'll get more. Smith, we, too, are sorry. Let's expect the best from every fellow and every fellow will give his best, although it will take real manhood to do it sometimes."
Ham and Willis went out to take a last look at the donkeys before going to bed. As they stood on the step, talking things over, they were startled to hear, somewhere in the night air, the long-drawn bark of a dog. It came again and again. "Over in the next canyon," was Ham's remark. "Up by the old mine," was Willis's thought, as he turned and went into the cabin.
After breakfast Willis took the trail that led to his father's mine. He went alone, for he had told no one of its discovery, not even Ham. He was not at all surprised to find the footprints of three men and a dog on the upper trail, and found no difficulty in following them to the mine. Once there, the first thing that attracted his attention was a new sign, nailed up in the place of the old tin one; on it, in bold, black letters, was written, "Private property, keep off!" The snow had been shoveled from one end of the dump, and it looked very much as if some of the rocks had been carried away. Willis wondered, but his reflections gave him no light. He noticed, however, that the tracks did not return down the trail, but ran off over the hill and into the next canyon. He made some careful observations, then returned to the cabin.
Upon Mr. Dean's suggestion, the morning was spent in tobogganing in wood while the snow was good. It was great fun to see the great logs slide down with a long swish and pile up in front of the cabin. The fellows worked with a will, and by noon a large supply had been pulled in. The next thing was to cut it and pile it away in the house. Smith undertook to build a sawbuck, and, with Mr. Allen's help, the job was soon accomplished. Every fellow then took his turn sawing off blocks until dinner time.
As they sat around the table enjoying a camp meal of fried ham, boiled rice, potatoes, rye bread, and coffee, a general discussion arose as to what the cabin should be named. They hoped to get the big bed filled with balsam boughs that afternoon before they started home, then the place would be ready for real use on a big scale; and, of course, it must have a name.
"Let's call it Snowbird Retreat," suggested Fat naively.
"Not on your life!" called Smith good-naturedly. "No snowbirds about this house; you want a good, warm, comfortable name. I'd freeze to death, or maybe get scared, if you called it that."
"St. Mary's Inn," suggested Ham.