"Huh, if you mean the smell, why, it ain't so very bad," replied the boy.
"Fact is, makes me think of rabbit stew, some."

"Beats any rabbit you ever ate; just wait," prophesied the trapper, who
knew that once Steve overcame his prejudice he would admit as much
himself.

Bandy-legs had finished dressing, and as he lacked certain garments to
complete his attire, the other boys temporarily helped him out. When his
own were dry he would return the borrowed articles.

As though desirous of doing penance because of his wretched failure as a
prank player, Bandy-legs did work, bringing wood to the outside of the
cabin with unwonted zeal.

Indeed, the trapper finally had to stop him.

"Looks like you meant to swamp us with firewood, son," he remarked,
surveying the pile that was heaped up against the side of the cabin.

"Huh, thought I'd get enough while I was about it," Bandy-legs replied.

"Well, you've done yourself proud, my boy, and I reckon I'd stop now.
We've got all we can use till to-morrow night. And I don't like too big a
stack against the cabin wall. A spark from the chimney might set her
going, and I'd hate to be burned out."

The supper was a success.