"Cuss the fireplace, so long's you're all right," answered Si. "A little mud 'll straighten that out. You got hold o' the bucket where me and Shorty 've bin savin' up our broken cartridges for a little private Fourth o' July some night."
"But, Si," said the Deacon sorrowfully, determined to have it out at once. "They're bigger thieves than you said there wuz. They stole your ax but I'll buy you a better one for 10 or 12 bits; they took your pan and beans, an' took your camp-kittle, and finally all the wood that I'd cut."
He looked so doleful that the boys could not help laughing.
"Don't worry about them, Pap," said Si cheer fully. "We'll fix them all right. Let's go inside and straighten things up, and then we'll have some thing to eat."
"But you can't git nothin' to eat," persisted the Deacon, "because there's nothin' to cook in."
"We'll have something, all the same," said Shorty, with a wink of enjoyable anticipation at Si.
The two boys carefully stowed away their overcoats, which were rolled up in bundles in a way that would be suspicious to a soldier. They got the interior of the cabin in more presentable shape, and then Shorty went out and produced a camp-kettle from somewhere, in which they made their coffee.
When this was ready, they shut the door and care fully unrolled their overcoats. A small sugar-cured ham, a box of sardines, a can of peaches, and a couple of loaves of fresh, soft bread developed.
"Yum-yum!" murmured Shorty, gloating over the viands.
"Where in the world did you git them, boys?" asked the Deacon in wonderment.