meet him. They would not erect the tent again.

They managed to kill several hen turkeys, another gobbler, which fell to Ned’s gun, and a couple of rabbits, but most of the game seemed to have disappeared, and there was no more in the vicinity of where the boys tramped, dragging the sled after them.

They halted for dinner in a dense part of the forest, and, after the meal, started for the place where the corduroy road ended. They judged it to be about six miles from where they were, and knew it would take them about until night-fall to reach it.

It was hard work, pulling the sled, but the exercise kept them warm, and they trudged on, plunging into drifts which the wind quickly raised. It started to snow again and the flakes began to blow across their path whipped into stinging particles by the force of the gale. They were enveloped in a white cloud through which they could see only dimly.

“Say, it’s getting worse and worse!” exclaimed Ned, as he paused for breath after a particularly stiff bit of pulling.

“Boys, it’s a regular blizzard, that’s what it is,” cried Bart. “We’re certainly in for it now. I don’t believe Jim will come for us in a storm like this.”

“If it isn’t a blizzard it’s the best imitation of one I ever saw,” remarked Frank. “What are we going to do?”

“Only thing is to keep on,” replied Bart.

“Are we going in the right direction?” asked Ned. “Fenn, suppose you take a look at the compass.”

Fenn, who carried the little instrument, reached in his overcoat pocket for it. He did not find it. Then he looked in several other pockets.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t lost it, have you?” asked Bart.

“I’m afraid so. Didn’t I give it to you, Ned, this morning?”

“Never saw it,” replied Ned.

Fenn made a more thorough search. The compass was not to be found. The boys stood there helplessly, in the midst of the howling storm, which was now at its height.

The snow was a blinding, scurrying, mass of flakes which stung their faces like needles. Overhead the trees were bending to the blast and the gale was roaring through the branches. There was no path. Ten feet ahead it looked like a blank white wall.

“Boys, we’re lost in the woods, and the blizzard is getting worse!” cried Bart, almost having to shout to make himself heard above the storm.

CHAPTER VI

A LONELY CABIN

“What’s to be done?” asked Fenn.

“Keep on! We may find the place where we were to meet Jim,” advised Frank.

“No,” Bart said. “That would be foolish. Jim would never come for us on such a night. Besides, we don’t know which way to go. We’d better camp here until the storm blows over. We’ve got everything we need, but it’s not going to be much fun under a tent in this weather.”

“Let’s get down more in a hollow,” suggested Fenn. “We’re on a hill here and get the full force of the wind. If we go on a bit we may find a better place.”

“Good idea!” exclaimed Bart. “Come on, fellows!”

He seized hold of the sled rope and began to pull, the others joining him. There was no choice of direction, so they turned to get the wind on their backs.

With grim perseverance they kept on. The wind seemed fairly to carry them forward, though it was hard to struggle through the drifts they encountered every once in a while. As they had no particular path to take, they avoided the big hummocks of snow as much as they could.

“I’ll have to stop!” declared Fenn, after a bit of hard pulling. “My wind’s giving out!”

“I wish the wind up above would,” murmured Bart as he tried to peer through the clouds of flakes to see where they were.

“Let’s stay here,” suggested Fenn. “If we’ve got to camp in the storm this place is as good as any.”

“That’s what I say,” remarked Frank. “This seems to be well sheltered.”

There came a momentary let-up to the gale. The snow did not seem to fall so thickly and the boys eagerly looked around them.

“There’s something over that way!” cried Ned, pointing to the left. “It looked like a barn or house. Let’s try for it!”

Then the wind swept down on them again, blotting out, in the swirl of flakes, whatever Ned had seen. But he had an idea of the direction it was in, and started off toward it.

“Here, come back and help pull the sled!” cried Bart, and the four boys, led by Ned, dragged the heavy load toward the spot where the building had been noticed.

They did not see it again until they were within ten feet of it, and then made out a lonely cabin in the midst of a clearing in the woods. The snow was half way up to the first floor window sills.

“There’s some one inside!” shouted Bart, as he saw smoke curling from the chimney. “Knock on the door! I’m half frozen!”

But there was no need to knock. The door was opened and a little girl peered out.

“Can we come in and get warm?” asked Ned. “We’re lost in the storm.”

“Who is it?” asked a woman’s voice, as she came to the door.

“We were camping out,” explained Bart, “and the storm caught us as we were about to go home. We live in Darewell.”

“Come in!” the woman exclaimed. “Our cabin is poor enough but it is better than the woods in such a storm. I’m sorry we can’t offer you anything to eat, but we have only a little for ourselves and there’s no telling when we’ll get more.”

“And to-morrow’s Thanksgiving,” murmured Ned in a low voice.

The boys stamped the snow from their feet and entered the cabin. There were two rooms downstairs and two up. In the apartment they entered was a stove in which a wood fire burned. In one corner stood a table with a few dishes on it, and there was a cupboard. Some chairs completed the furnishings. Close to the fire, clad in a ragged dress, sat a little girl. The boys needed but one glance to see that the family was in dire straits.

“My name is Perry,” the woman said. “I live here with my two daughters. The town of Kirkville supports us. The poormaster brought some food last week but he hasn’t been here this week, and we are afraid he can not come because of the storm. Otherwise I could offer you something to eat,” and she turned aside her head to hide her tears.

“Don’t cry, mother,” exclaimed the child who had been sitting near the fire. “We’re not very hungry, and maybe the snow will stop. We had a nice Thanksgiving last year—and—and—”

“I’m afraid we’ll have a poor one to-morrow,” Mrs. Perry replied. “But boys, come closer to the fire. You must be cold. At least we have plenty of wood. That is free, and my daughters gathered a lot the other day in the woods.”

“Mrs. Perry—ahem, ma’am—that is—er—I mean—Oh, hang it! Ain’t any of you going to help a fellow out!” exclaimed Ned, clearing his throat with unnecessary violence. “What I mean is we’ve got a lot of things to eat, on our sled. We’d be glad to have you—Oh, here! Boys come on out and bring in some of the things!” and before the astonished woman knew what was happening Ned and his chums were out in the snow fairly tearing the things off the sled. In they trooped again, bearing turkeys, rabbits, and a lot of the camp food they had not eaten.

“Oh, it’s just like Santa Claus!” cried the little girl. “I knew we’d have Thanksgiving, mommey!”

But Mrs. Perry