The Chief went on as if nothing had happened. "Jack and Peter, shell and
pop the corn, George and Jay, crack the nuts. And you, Albert, run to
the cellar for the apples. Get good ones, young man."

"Why," questioned Albert, as he picked himself up, "why must poor
Albert always do the hard work, while the other fellows stay by the warm
fire?" No one answered him and he slowly marched off.

Soon the corn was popped, the nuts cracked and the big red apples on
deck. And then it was a quiet room save for the snapping of a shell from
a half-cracked nut, and the munching of the firm apples as the boys ate.
The firelight played softly over the old room bringing out strongly the
big oak table, the group of boys, the silent man, throwing far back into
the shadows the old rush-bottomed chairs, the short-legged rockers and
the pieces of furniture at all distant from the fire.

The clock struck nine. The boys reluctantly got up from the floor and
struggled into their coats. Jay unbarred the door. The man held the
light high above his head sending a stream of light after them, George
astride his old farm horse ready for his three-mile ride, Jay and Albert
trudging after him, and Jack and Peter hand in hand on a run toward the
village.

"Good-night!" they shouted back at the man, "We'll be on time next
Saturday night, seven sharp. Good-night!"




II