Sparks were flying from the chimney-top of the shack, showing that Mr.Fits was preparing to warm himself.
"And that's the way we've treated the fellow who stole mother's Christmas present, and mine," muttered Dick.
At last the boys reached the pile of logs.

Dick tackled it bravely with the crowbar.

Shortly he had half a dozen logs clear, though he was panting, both from the beating of the storm and from the hard labor he had taken upon himself.
"Get those in," called Dick.

"While you're at it I'll pry more loose." Hen Dutcher picked up the smallest of the logs, starting for the cabin, but Greg caught him by the shoulder.
"See here, Mr.Lazy, if you're going to pick out such easy ones as that, take two at a time." "I can't," sputtered Hen.
"Then I'll turn you over to Dave Darrin when you get inside." Hen thereupon picked up another small log, though he pretended to stagger under the double burden.

Greg also carried two logs, and he staggered with good reason, for the weight was more than he should have attempted in the deep snow.
In the very little time that had passed the snow seemed to have grown much deeper.