“I’ve been elected chief cook by unanimous vote,” he said, as he waved a big spoon about his head to emphasize his assertion; “and I expect you all to do what I tell you.”
So he set them each one a task, Phil “spelling” Ethan at the woodpile, X-Ray to fetch plenty of fuel up, and Ethan something else when he had recovered his wind after his recent violent exertions.
As he cooked the breakfast Lub talked confidentially to the boy, who was looking quite contented and happy, as indeed who would not when finding such good friends, and being treated to such bountiful spreads?
“Are we going to try and take him back to his mammy to-day, Phil?” asked Ethan, later on, as they sat on the log, and discussed the eggs and bacon and coffee and flapjacks which had been produced so bountifully under the deft manipulation of the obliging Lub.
“Oh! what’s the hurry?” the cook hastened to say; “it’s threatening again, you can notice if you look at that bank of storm clouds coming up yonder. Better put it off a while. We’ve got oceans of grub, you know; and I like to feel him wrapped up in a blanket with me first-rate.”
All of them looked to Phil to give the deciding word, though as a rule he always consulted his chums before saying anything, and tried to have it so that majority ruled the camp.
“I quite agree with Lub,” he went on to say, quietly, as he gave that individual a smile, and then nodded his head toward the little chap.
“Good for you, Phil!” burst out Lub, clapping his hands together in delight.
“I don’t altogether like the looks of things over there where those clouds are coming up,” continued Phil. “It wouldn’t be the nicest thing in the world to try to take this boy miles away, and then get caught in a howling blizzard. We’d do better to hold our horses and see what turns up.”
“Oh! then you expect that some one may come along looking for him, do you?” asked X-Ray, jumping to conclusions.