hold of a tree
now!"

"Not much you have," remarked Thad, "that's my leg you're hanging on to.
Let go, and we'll soon find out what happened."

"Ain't it a storm after all then?" demanded Step Hen, as he came
creeping out under the canvas of the back of the one tent that had been
left standing, with most of his clothes hugged tightly in his grip, as
though he did not mean to be utterly left without something to keep him
warm, if the worst had befallen them.

Thad had by now gleaned an inkling of the truth. And it was so utterly
ridiculous that he felt as though he must soon burst into peals of
laughter.

"First tell me if anybody was hurt?" he demanded, feeling that it would
be wrong to show any merriment if such should prove to be the case.

"I don't know," remarked Giraffe; "seemed to me something heavy came
squash down on top of me like a thousand of bricks. Mebbe it was only
the tent pole falling. Guess I ain't hurt much."

"How about you, Allan?" asked Thad, hardly thinking it worth while to
ask Bumpus, who seemed to be all right; though he was already beginning
to dance around, as the nipping fingers of Jack Frost got busy with his
thinly covered shanks, about which he had only his flimsy pajamas over
his underclothes.

"Never happened to step on me, though he came within three inches of my
back!" replied the Maine boy; and there was something about his words to
tell that Allan must already have guessed what had been the cause for
all this commotion, and the stealing of their tent.

Bumpus caught at the words.

"What's all that?" he demanded quickly; "was it the work of some mean
feller, after all? Hey, is that the way your old Cale Martin gets in his
work, sneakin' up in the dead of night, when we're all sleepin' as
innocent as the babes in the woods, and snatchin' off our covers before
you could wink an eye, or say Jack Robinson? Well, I like his nerve,
that's what; and he'd better look out how he keeps on tryin' tricks on
travelers. Say, he switched our tent, too!" and Bumpus gave a whistle,
as well as his trembling lips would allow, to emphasize his disgust.

"You can thank your lucky stars old fellow," said Allan, "that he didn't
plant one of his hoofs square on your stomach."

"Hoofs!" echoed Bumpus, aghast; "say, then it wasn't that old poacher
after all, was it? Hoofs? That must mean it was an animal. Looky here,
somebody get the fire started again, so we won't shake to pieces while
we're hun