"What comes next, Bob?" asked Tommy Clifton.
"I'll show you. First, I want four stout poles for the corners."
Bob Somers selected the heaviest maples, which had been cut to a suitable length. They were solid and heavy, and required the combined strength of several boys to lift into place.
"Ram them down as hard as possible," said Bob. "Then fill up the hole and bank them all around. Wet the earth as you pack it in. When it gets hard, it ought to hold like a vise."
"Well, it's going to hold that one, I can tell you," declared Sam Randall, as they lifted the first pole, and brought it down with a bang.
Hackett began to throw in the earth. "But it's fierce work, though," he grumbled; "and a lot more to do."
Bob laughed. "Stick it out, Hacky," he said; "you'll forget all about the backache by this time next week."
"It would be better to leave the other hut until to-morrow," suggested Nat. "We can all crowd into one—it's only for a night, you know."
"I guess that's the best plan."
"Won't it be awful cold in there, Bob?" asked Tom Clifton.