"Say, are you fellows going to freeze me to death?" called Hen Dutcher, his teeth chattering. He was facing the fire, roasting in front, but with chills running down his spine.
"Close the door, fellows. We can't see much to-night at any rate, and we'll see the whole storm in the morning," proposed Dick. "We don't want to see Hen freeze to death."
"Nobody invited him here!"
Dick turned, wondering who had made that remark, but he could not make up his mind.
"Take off your coat, Hen, and have some hot coffee. We have some left, and it will warm you," Dick went on, after the door had been closed and barred.
"I'll have supper and the whole thing," declared Hen promptly. "Don't you fellows expect to feed your visitors?"
"We'll feed you," Dick agreed, "though we had made no plans for visitors and didn't expect any."
Hen had some difficulty in getting off his coat.
"Are you as stiff as that?" asked Prescott, going to the other fellow's assistance.
"I tell you, I'm just about frozen to death," moaned Hen. "My, how cold it came on, just after dark! The wind began to howl, and I could feel the ice forming on my chin every time I breathed. I thought sure I was going to freeze to death in the woods. I'd about given up when I saw your lights."