"It's warm here in the tent, but the surrounding world is chill
and drear. Nothing but hot food will serve us."

Preparations for the meal were quickly under way.

"I hope everyone within the reach of this storm is as comfortable
as we are," murmured Hazelton.

"Why, we're so happy, we could entertain company with a relish,"
laughed Reade.

"Say, what was that?" demanded Greg.

From outside came a faint sound as of someone stealthily groping
about outside in the storm.

"Bring a lantern, quickly!" called Dick, going toward the tent
door.

As Greg played the rays of light against the darkness outside,
Dick suddenly sprang forth into the dark. Then he returned, bearing
in his arms the pitiful little figure of old Reuben Hinman, the
peddler.

"Look at his head!" gasped Reade, in horror, as Prescott entered
with the burden.

From a gash over the peddler's left temple blood was flowing,
leaving its dark trail over the peddler's light brown coat.