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 only kind," smiled Dick.

"Don't you like codfish, Hen ?" "Not a little bit," grumbled Dutcher.
"Then you can cut out breakfast, and you'll have a fine appetite at noon," offered Dan consolingly.
"It seems to me that you fellows use me as meanly as you know how," flared Hen.