“Dinner is ready. Wash up and hop to it.”
They needed no second invitation. Frank opened the oven door and a delicious odor of browned chicken permeated the cabin. The Christmas pudding, which Mrs. Hardy had prepared before the boys left Bayport, was already steaming, and the table was loaded high with good things, pickles, potatoes, “and all the trimmings.”
The boys later vowed that of all the Christmas dinners they had ever eaten, with all due respect to the dinners they had sat down to at home, the one that would remain longest in their memories would be the Christmas feast they devoured during their outing on Cabin Island.
The afternoon they spent quietly, trying out their skis on the sloping hillsides on the eastern side of the island. This exhilarating sport made the hours pass quickly, and when the winter twilight fell the boys returned to the cabin, weary and happy.
“The best Christmas ever!” they voted it.
“Well,” said Frank, as they sat about the fireplace that evening, “the man who lost the notebook didn’t show up to-day.”
“He’ll be back,” said Joe.
“And we’ll be ready for him.”
“Perhaps he hasn’t missed it yet,” suggested Biff.
“Perhaps not. What I’m afraid of,” Frank said, “is that he won’t consider it important enough to come back for.”