The embers of the fire glowed brightly, offering a truly comfortable sense of companionship. In the bright glow's midst stood the big coffee pot which had seen service many times before, also a tightly covered, black roasting-pan. The two boys put down the bucket, borne between them on a short pole and Way at once busied himself in opening up a big bale of bedding. "All-I-wants-is-my-chicken," half sang, half chanted Paul Jones. "Oh, forget it!" drawled Phil, impatiently, creating a laugh--perhaps because it was not often he descended to plain, unvarnished slang. "You've been talking chicken all day. My! that coffee smells good," he added, just to take the rough edge off his speech. "A nice drumstick and a slice or two of white meat. U-m-m!" sighed Jones, as if he certainly would expire directly if his wish were not gratified. An impatient growl from Phil elicited another laugh in which Jones joined with greatest merriment. Then in another moment-- "Come on, here! Get your festal board ready!" commanded Chef Billy and directly he drew the black, covered pan from the coals and lifted the lid. Ah, what savory smell was that! Chicken--roast chicken, and positively no mistake about it. "Say!" This ejaculation, his face lighted up bright as the blazing coals, was all Phil could muster. "Well, I guess maybe we're no wizards! No, we're no wizards--nothing like that at all," chirped Paul Jones in his peculiarly happy way. "No! Don't take a wizard to do these little tricks! Don't think it for a minute!" "Where ever _did_ you get that chicken?" demanded Phil, completely puzzled. "This is what your talking about white meat meant, is it?" Then they told him how Mrs. Tyler Gleason, whose good friendship they had won out on the farm the year before, sent the chicken, all nicely roasted, expressly for the expedition. All four lads had been at the farm and at the "Retreat" in the ravine on Sunday afternoon and in confidence told Mr. and Mrs. Gleason of their plan to start their journey on Monday. The unexpected but very welcome contribution to their stock of provisions arrived but an hour before the car was loaded. Phil being so busily engaged in putting the blinders over the eyes of the too-confident Trio, had not, of course, known of the gift. The others saved the fowl for supper purposely to surprise him. "Nothing to do but warm it up, and way off here on the edge of nowhere, we have as fine a roast chicken as ever came down the pike," quoth Billy Worth. And although it must be admitted that any roast chicken pursuing its way upon the pike, or any other roadway, would be nothing short of extraordinary, the fact remains that Mrs. Gleason's offering was all that could be desired.