"Did you tell Doctor Joe about the tracks?" asked David.

"No, I weren't thinkin' to tell he when we goes in to eat, and he
weren't wantin' us in before that fearin' we'd wake Lem. The tracks
weren't of much account whatever. The folk that shot Lem were leavin'
in a boat and we couldn't track the boat to find out who 'twere."

A drizzling rain began to fall before they made camp that night. It
was too wet and dreary under the dripping trees for an open camp fire.
The stove was therefore brought into service and set up in the tent,
and there they cooked and ate their supper by candle-light.

On a cold and stormy night there is no article in the camp equipment
more useful than a little sheet-iron stove. With its magic touch it
transforms a wet and dismal tent into the snuggest and cosiest and
most comfortable retreat in the whole world. Outside the wind was now
dashing the rain in angry gusts against the canvas, and moaning
drearily through the tree tops. Within the fire crackled cheerily. The
tent was dry and snug and warm. The bed of fragrant balsam and spruce
boughs, the smell of the fire and the soft candle-light combined to
give it an indescribable atmosphere of luxury.

In the morning the weather had not improved. The wind had risen during
the night, and was driving the rain in sheets over the Bay. David went
outside to make a survey, and when he returned he reported:

"'Twill be a nasty day abroad."

"Let's bide here till the rain stops," suggested Jamie.