Words can hardly express the boys’ pleasure as they built a fire for the first time in the big fire-place and found that their chimney did its work admirably. Without loss of time they at once moved into their new house from the brush shack in which their home had been; and by the cheerful fire light, as the night came on, they placed their things in as orderly a manner as possible, and found themselves quite comfortable, though much remained to be done, the chinking of the walls being the chief task unfinished.
Notwithstanding how the wind crept in at the open cracks until this work should be done, the boys were happy as they cooked and ate their supper in their new home. The ripple and murmur of the river as it splashed on the shore or washed over half-hidden stones, rose to them from the foot of the mound, and was like sweet music in their ears. The wind gently tossed the branches of the trees in harmony with the water’s sound, and the howling of wolves far off somewhere in the darkness, made the feeling of security which the stout cabin walls gave all the more pleasing. Their prowling foe had not been about since the first night of their arrival, and they felt entirely safe.
“I guess I’ll turn in, then,” said John, after trying in vain to brighten up Tom Fish and get him to telling stories; and he was soon asleep on the bed of leaves he had made in a corner.
Ree, having had no chance to read since leaving home, resolved to improve this opportunity. He got his “Pilgrim’s Progress” from a chest, and settled himself before the fire.
All the evening Tom had sat in silence beside the big chimney, but soon he leaned over, and placing one big hand on Ree’s knee, said in a low voice:
“I’ve been wantin’ to tell ye somethin’, Ree; it’s about that thar scalp that has upset me so ever since I seen it.”