“Same here!” declared the Trojan.
Both Sam and Orkney, it proved, had been provident. Each produced a doughnut.
“Share and share alike,” Sam ruled. There was some demur from Poke, but the division was made. In a few moments the last crumb had vanished.
“My! but that’s just an appetizer!” sighed Poke.
It occurred to Sam that diversion was needed. “You firemen, rustle in more wood—a lot of it!” he directed. “Orkney, it looks as if there were a back room. Let’s explore!”
The “back room” proved to be a shed-like extension, in worse condition than the house itself. It yielded, however, a number of mildewed sacks, a wooden bucket, and a battered iron pot, in which, hung from a crane in the fireplace, snow could be melted.
Herman, Step and the Trojan brought in huge armloads of wood. They declared that it would be needed; that the temperature was falling, and that the night would be Arctic.
“Whoof! but it’s awful outside!” Herman avowed. “Bet it’ll hit thirty below!”
This, as the boys knew, was by no means improbable. In Plainville thermometers now and then showed such readings in cold snaps, while even lower marks had been recorded in the hills.
Sam built up the fire with generous hand. Its light as well as warmth was welcome, for the early dusk was closing in. The boys ranged themselves before the hearth. Coats were stripped off; shoes were removed, and toes were toasted comfortably. After all, the adventurers could count themselves lucky. If they had doubts on the point, they had but to listen to the shriek of the wind and the crackling sound of the snow driving against the windows.