The fire lit up the cave, for it was only about a dozen feet square. Only, it was not really square, being of a circular shape at the back. The smoke from the fire rose straight up and disappeared through a hole in the low roof through which there must have been considerable draught.
Of course, there was a strong smell of wood smoke in the cave; but not enough smoke to make one’s eyes smart. There were some old blankets and rugs on the floor for carpet. Against one side wall was a great heap of balsam boughs, over which were flung robes.
When Sammy came staggering in with the sled he fairly shouted his approval of the cave.
“Je-ru-sa-lem! what a jim-dandy place. Say! I bet Neale O’Neil would like to see this.”
“Well, you needn’t be bringing anybody here and showing it. This is our own particular hideout—Rowdy’s and mine. So now,” observed Rafe, who seemed to be less friendly than his brother.
“Oh, hush,” pleaded the latter. “Do be hospitable, Rafe. Don’t you know these kids are our guests?”
“‘Guests!’” snorted the other.
“Yes, they are.”
“Oh, please don’t quarrel about us,” urged Tess Kenway gently. “We’ll go right away as soon as it stops snowing, and we’ll never tell anybody about this cave if you don’t want us to.”
“Don’t mind him,” said Rowdy. “He’s got a cold and a grouch. Come on, Rafe; help me pluck this rabbit.”