rth."

"Why, there isn't anything very hard about taking care of ourselves
here," Dick continued. "All we have to do is to show a little industry.
We've got everything at hand that we could possibly need. But I wish the
home folks knew how comfy and happy we are."

"I'd like to see myself out of this," grumbled Hen Dutcher, lying
huddled in his bunk under the pile of overcoats. "Say, fellows, is it
warm enough for me to get up yet?"

As all of the real boys in the party were already up, none of them
thought it necessary to answer Hen, who presently slid out of his bunk
and began to dress rapidly.

"What are we going to have to eat this morning, and when?" Hen wanted to
know.

"I guess we'll have a light breakfast this morning," hinted Reade.

"Why?" demanded Dutcher, his jaw dropping.

"So we can have a better appetite for the turkey we brought along.
Fellows, don't you think we'd better eat that turkey to-day? It may not
keep."

"Turkey?" blurted Hen Dutcher, his eyes dancing with anticipated
pleasure. "I didn't know you had any grub as fine as that."

"I've been thinking," proposed Prescott, "that we might as well have
some of that turkey for breakfast this morning."

"Why, is it already cooked?" cried Hen.

"Oh, no," Dick admitted.

"Then let's have something else for breakfast and keep the turkey until
noon," suggested Dutcher. "I can't wait for my breakfast."

"What do you fellows say?" asked Dick, putting it to a vote, but
ignoring Hen. "Shall it be turkey for breakfast?"

"Turkey!" solemnly voted five Grammar School boys.

"I call it a shame to treat a fellow like this," grumbled Hen. "To make
a fellow wait so long for his breakfast when he's starving to death!"

But none of the others gave any sign that they heard. Dick went to a
shelf on which lay many packages of the food they had brought with them
two days before. Dick took down a plain little wooden box and stepped to
the table.

"Put on about eight eggs, and boil 'em hard, will you, Greg?" Dick
asked. "Tom might tackle the coffee-making this morning. Dan and Harry
can get potatoes ready."

"But where's the turkey, then?" queried Hen, watching Dick as he opened
the box.

"Right here," proclaimed young Prescott, removing the lid.

"Why, that's--that's codfish, salted and dried!" exploded Hen.

"Well, isn't codfish Cape Cod turkey?" demanded Reade, with a grin.

"Is that the only kind of turkey you have with you?" asked Hen.

"The