“You can bet they’re not planning to go bear hunting at six in the morning,” Sandy answered sleepily.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Treed by a Wounded Bear
Professor Stern roused the boys at eight o’clock on New Year’s morning. “Put on two suits of long woolen underwear and two pairs of socks,” he instructed them. “We’ll probably be out until dark.”
They dressed quickly and went downstairs to the big kitchen, where Chris Hanson was cooking breakfast. “How’ll you have your eggs, fellows?” he asked.
“Sunny side up,” Sandy answered. “Can we help?”
“Sure. You can start the toast.”
Sandy took a handful of sliced bread out of the bread box and began searching through the cupboards. “Where’s the toaster?” he asked finally.
Chris smiled and pointed to the stove. “Right here. Just butter the bread lightly and spread the slices out between the lids.”
For the first time, Sandy became aware that the cooking stove was the old-fashioned, cast iron, wood-burning type; the kind you saw only in Western movies in the United States. A long tongue of flame and a shower of sparks shot up into the air as Chris lifted one of the front lids and set the teakettle over the opening.
“When we first bought the place,” Chris said, “we planned to install one of those newfangled electric stoves in a year or two. But we got attached to this old girl. We’ve never regretted it either. I don’t know how many times the electric power has conked out for days at a time. Anyway, this cooks better than any gas or electric stove I’ve ever seen.”