more closely around him, and coughed hoarsely. His teeth were chattering
and his lips blue. "You look nearly frozen," said Keith, who, well-clad
and well-fed, scarcely felt the cold. "Here! put this on, or you'll be
sick," Unbuttoning his thick little reefer, he pulled it off and tied
its sleeves around Jonesy's neck.

A strange look passed over the face of the man behind them. "Blessed if
the little kid didn't take it off his own back," he muttered. "If any
man had ever done that for me--just once--well, maybe, I wouldn't ha'
been what I am now!"

For a moment, as they reached the top of the hill, bear, boys, and man
were outlined blackly against the sky like strange silhouettes. Then
they passed over and disappeared in the thick clump of pine-trees, which
hid the little cabin from the eyes of the surrounding world.



CHAPTER II.

GINGER AND THE BOYS.

In less time than one would think possible, a big fire was roaring in
the cabin fireplace, water was steaming in the rusty kettle on the
crane, and a pile of hay and old carpet lay in one corner, ready to be
made into a bed. Keith had made several trips to the kitchen, and came
back each time with his hands full.

Old Daphne, the cook, never could find it in her heart to refuse "Marse
Sydney's" boys anything. They were too much like what their father had