"Course he had to!" growled the lumberman, and he passed the paper round.
"Oncommon peart baby," said Skid, at last.
"Dreadful cold shack, though!" muttered Bates, conveying a quarter of a griddlecake to his mouth.
"That's just it," said Pose, scowling. "Just let a stiff nip of winter come, and the woman yonder and the little critter, they'd freeze, that's what they'd do, in that old rattletrap."
The men looked at one another in solemn assent. "And I've been thinking," continued Breem, "since Bennett there belonged to the camp, and since we kind of misused the fellow for being stingy—for which we ought to have been smashed with logs—that we have a kind of a claim on 'em, as 'twere, and they on us. And we must get 'em out of that yonder before they freeze plumb solid." He stopped inquiringly.
"Right as right," assented several.
"And I've been thinking," said Bates suddenly, "about that storeroom of ours. It's snug and warm, and there's a lot of room in it, and we can put a stove into it and—" But the rest of Bates's suggestion was drowned in a round of applause.
"And I've been thinking, just a little," put in Skid Thomson, "and if I've figured correct, next Thursday's Thanksgiving—don't know as I've thought of it in ten years—and if we stir round sharp we can get things ready by then, and—well, 'twouldn't hurt Beetle Ring to celebrate for once—" But Skid was also interrupted by a cheer.
"And it's my firm belief," reflected Bates with an air of profound conviction, "that that baby of Bennett's was designed special and, as you might say, providential, for to be Beetle Ring's mascot. Fat Pine and Horseshoe have 'em—mascots—to bring luck, and I've noticed Beetle Ring ain't had the luck lately it should have."
Bates paused, and the camp meditated in silent delight.