"I've just been longing to go hunting and get a rabbit for a stew." "We'll be here for days and days yet," answered Dick.

"I guess we'll be able to find plenty of fun before our camping frolic is over." "It's fun, just being here and living this way," Darrin declared.
Something beat against one of the windows, causing the boys to look around curiously.
"Just a twig blown off from some tree," declared Tom.
"Is it ?" floated back from Greg, who had leaped up and was now hurrying toward the window in question.

"It's a pigeon--that's what it is.

And the poor thing looks perishing, too." In truth Mr.Pigeon did seem to be about spent.

The poor thing huddled against the sash, as if trying to shelter itself from the biting wind and the fine dust of blown snow.
"Bring the tea-kettle, some one," called Greg, and Dick did so.
"Pour the water on so that I can get the window open," Greg directed.
"Just enough to soften the ice so that the sash will move back.