They were not tramps.
The man, who had at that moment a bottle glued to his lips, was bearded and wore a coarse fur cap.
As the man dropped the flask into a pocket of his jacket he made some remark and lifted the stove-lid with a stout twig.
The end boy reached for some broken branches, rose and began to stuff these into the grate.
The glare of the blaze shone full in his face, and Dick gave a gasp of astonishment.
He recognized the freckled features of Luke Maslin.
“Gee whiz! What’s he doing here?” muttered the boy outside.
Naturally his curiosity was greatly excited.
It was a strange place and strange company for the son of Silas Maslin to be found mixed up with.
What did it all mean?