CHAPTER XXII

CHRISTMAS IN CAMP

With new hope in their hearts the chums followed William. They did not mind the cold or hunger now, but hurried on, intent on reaching their tents, donning dry clothing, and starting a roaring fire. Then they would have something to eat.

On the way William told them of his new position. Following his experience in New York, after he had run away from the cruel sea captain, he had worked at odd jobs. Then, on his return to his home, near Darewell, the chums' fathers had gotten a good position for him.

Some time previous to his opportune meeting with the lost lads, William explained, he had taken service with the lumber company, which owned most of the woods where the winter camp was. It was part of the youth's duties to go from camp to camp with documents and messages.

"It's fine, too," he said, "when the weather is good. When it's too bad, I stay in camp with the men, but I must have made a miscalculation this time, for I was caught in the storm. But it happened for the best, after all."

"That's what," agreed Bart. "If it hadn't been for you I don't know what we'd have done. Can you stay in camp with us for a while?"

"Well, long enough to have dinner, if you've got enough to eat."

"Oh, we've got plenty," Ned assured him. "Bart's a good shot, you know," and the chums took turns in explaining how they had come to make a winter camp in the woods. They said nothing about the missing diamond bracelet, however, nor about the mysterious man.

Camp was reached none too soon for the comfort of our heroes. They found nothing disturbed, and from their stock of dry wood, under one tent, a roaring fire was made. The lads changed to dry clothes, had a hot meal, which William Perry shared with them, and then he said he must be on his way.

"Can't you spend a week with us?" invited Frank, as the lumber lad was about to go.

"I'm afraid not. This is my busy season, you know."

"I have it!" cried Fenn.

"Let's hear it, Stumpy," suggested Bart. "Out with it."

"Well," went on the fleshy lad, "next Tuesday is Christmas. You don't have to work Christmas, do you, William?"

"No, I guess not."

"Then I'll tell you what to do. Spend Christmas here with us. We're going to have a good time. Not much in the way of presents, for we didn't bring any out in the woods, but we'll have a Christmas tree, even if Bart does want to hang up his stockings," and Fenn winked at his chums.

"It sounds good," spoke William, wistfully. "I don't believe I can get home for Christmas, or I would go see my folks."

"And we'll have roast wild turkey, rabbit stew, partridge potpie and bear steak, also some venison, if Bart has any luck," went on Fenn.

"It sounds better and better."

"And then there's going to be a plum pudding," added Fenn proudly.

"A plum pudding!" they all cried.

"Yes, I brought all the materials along. We're going to have a regular plum pudding for Christmas!"

"Then I'm coming," promised William. "I'll get along now, and hurry on to the lumber camp. I'll ask the boss for a few days off, so I can get here Saturday, and stay over until the next Wednesday, which will be the day after Christmas."

They voted that plan a good one, and soon afterward William was tramping back through the woods, having promised to be on hand at the time specified.

The chums felt no ill effects from their night in the woods, for they followed Bart's advice and took plenty of hot ginger tea, made from the materials Alice had supplied.

The next few days were busy ones for the campers. They made some improvements about the tents, arranged an extra bed for William, and brought in a good supply of wood, which was put under shelter. Bart went hunting several times, and did manage to get a buck, but it was smaller than the one he had chased. Several rabbits, a number of partridges, and some wild turkeys were shot, which, together with the supplies already on hand, promised an abundance for Christmas.

Fenn, meanwhile, true to his promise, was busy over the plum pudding, which, he said, would take several days to make.

"I should think it would," remarked Ned, one afternoon, when Fenn was occupied with chopping bowl and knife in the cook tent. "It's a wonder you didn't start last Fourth of July, Stumpy."

"That's all right, I know how to make this pudding," asserted Fenn, with a superior air.

"He's mighty proud of it," whispered Frank to Ned, as they moved away. "I wish we could play some joke on him."

"Maybe we can."

"I'll think of one," went on Frank, who had not yet gotten over his failure with the pancakes, for which he partly blamed Fenn.

William arrived that Saturday afternoon, and was soon made to feel at home in the camp. He was given a spare gun, and on the Monday before Christmas, all five went for a hunt, though they did not expect to go far from camp.

They bagged some small game, and Bart made a remarkable kill of a brace of partridges, getting one each with his left and right barrels, when it seemed that both birds would escape.

"That's fine shooting, Bart," remarked William.

"Oh, Bart's a good shot," answered Ned proudly, and not at all jealous. But before long Bart was destined to make a more remarkable shot than that.

As the boys had said there was to be practically nothing in the way of giving each other presents while in camp. Fenn, for the joke of the thing, rigged up a small Christmas tree, on which were hung pretended gifts.

"Well, let's get to bed early to-night," suggested Frank on Christmas eve.

"And get up a good appetite for my plum pudding," suggested Fenn. "It's a dandy! I've got it all made, and all I have to do is to warm it, and make the sauce. It's in that box," and he pointed proudly to one in the cook tent.

Christmas was ushered in with a snow storm, which made the woods a place of beauty. It was not very cold, and the boys, jumping from their beds, wished each other the joys of the season.

Most of the work of getting ready the dinner had been done the day previous, so there was little work Christmas morning. They went hunting, but did not see anything to shoot, and, in fact they did not need anything, as the larder was well stocked.

"Now," ordered Fenn, on their return, "get a move on, fellows. Get the table set, and I'll look after the other things," for the turkey and some partridges had been partly cooked the day previous, and needed only a final turn in the oven. Several dainties had been brought from home, in anticipation of this feast, and they were now set out.

Such a dinner as it was! Eaten in the midst of a silent wilderness, with the keen sharp air of winter all about, the boys had appetites that would have been the envy and despair of a person troubled with dyspepsia.

"Well, have you had enough, fellows?" asked Fenn, as he stood over the platters of turkey and partridge.

"Too much," groaned Bart.

"I hope you have room for the pudding," spoke Fenn, anxiously. "Don't say you can't eat some of my plum pudding! Why I have a regular sauce, made from a recipe in a book, to eat on it."

"Oh, I guess we can tackle a slice," remarked William, and Fenn went proudly to the stove, where the pudding was being kept hot, and soon had it on the table, flanked by two bowls of savory sauce.

"Let me carve it," begged Ned, with a look at Frank and Bart. "I'll serve it, Fenn. You've done enough."

"All right," agreed the manufacturer of the pudding.

Ned carefully inserted a knife in the smoking heap on the plate. Fenn looked proudly on, as a generous piece was passed to William, as the guest of the day. Then Bart and Frank were served. The latter gave a sudden outcry.

"I say, Fenn!" he demanded. "Is this a joke, or what? I thought you were going to give us plum pudding!"

"So I am. What's that on your plate?"

"I don't know what it is," declared Frank, indignantly, "only I know it isn't plum pudding. It looks like dough, but it's got the queerest collection of plums in it that I ever saw. Look, here's a piece of rubber boot, part of a shoe, some pine cones, some sticks of wood, stones, part of a rope, some brass cartridges and some flannel bandages. Plum pudding! Take a look," and Frank passed to the astonished Fenn, the plate of the dubious looking mess.