"I would call her a peach, whoever she may be," added Roland as he
gathered up some dry bits of wood on his way to the cabin.

"Norah's our cook," declared Roger with an implied rebuke in his voice,
for it did seem to him every one should have been aware of that important
fact.

"Beg your pardon," said Roland. "I have a profound respect for such a cook
as your refreshing Norah--I say refreshing advisedly," making a grab at
the basket Joe and Nat were carrying.

"Here we are," called Tom, who was somewhat in advance. "And the door is
not barred."

Roger was back with the bag of charcoal, and now they all entered the old
hut. The place had evidently been long ago left to the squirrels and wood
birds, but it was clean, save for the refuse of dry leaves and bits of
bark, remnants of other winters, when the broken windows accepted what the
winds chose to hurl in and scatter about the old woodchopper's cabin.

"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