"Hurrah!" shouted Roger, inadvertently spilling his prized bag of
charcoal.
"We don't light the fire there," said Nat "Better pick that up and dump it
on the fireplace. Isn't this great, though? Glad I came! Fellows, help
yourselves," and he stretched out on a rude board bench that lined one
side of the place.
"Get up!" insisted Tom. "Do you suppose for one instant that you do not
have to work? I assign you to the task of striking the matches."
It occurred to Roger that some boys, big ones at that, might be just as
silly as girls--in fact, more silly than most girls, for when they said
foolish things they invariably took the trouble to laugh at their own
attempts. Now, thought Roger, girls never do that. Close upon the heels of
that thought sprang into the little fellow's heart the wish that Dorothy
might have been along. She would know just how to arrange the dinner so
that the big fellows did not get the best pieces.
Nat had already begun at his task--he was striking matches furiously by
the old stone fireplace, watching the dry leaves blaze up and then die out
quickly.
"Here, quit!" called Roland. "Do you think we fellows are lined with
matches? We really might want one for the fire, you know."
"Oh, certainly," assented Nat, discontinuing his pastime. "I was just
trying the flue."
"But I say, fellows," remarked Tom seriously, "isn't this great? What do
you suppose the place stands for?"
"A woodchopper's cabin," Ned replied.
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