The bunks were rough, clumsily made affairs, a few boards knocked together, with a thin layer of hay thrown in at the bottom of each; but with the blankets from the yacht they would be comfortable. In the centre of the room was a large sheet-iron stove, with a funnel running up through the roof. In one corner of the room—there was only one room in the cabin—was a sort of cupboard, on the shelves of which were piled a few tin dishes. A rusty axe was apparently the only tool left on the premises. There was a scrap of kindling and one or two dry sticks of wood beside the stove, and with this they started a fire. Driftwood lined the shore, and a number of dead spruces, which had not yet rotted, furnished them with an ample supply of fuel. They piled the stove full, and soon had a fire roaring that turned the stove red-hot and which sent out a grateful warmth throughout the cabin. “That will dry us out in good shape,” exclaimed Arthur, as the steam came from his wet clothing. “We’ll have this old shanty as comfortable as a parlour. This is a better house than Crusoe ever had.” It was, in fact, a comfortable shelter against the storm. The roof and sides were shingled, so that it kept out the rain, and though the wind, which by this time was blowing a gale, shook it till it rattled, it stood firm. After the boys had brought in a supply of firewood, enough to last them through the evening, and had stowed it near the stove to dry, they set out again for the yacht, and brought back each a blanket, the yacht’s two lanterns, and a supply of food. “It’s lucky we put a good supply aboard,” said young Joe, as they stowed the stuff away on the cabin shelves. “Looks as though we were in for a couple of days here, at least. It wouldn’t have been any fun to have to fish for our suppers in this storm.” “You would never have survived it, Joe,” returned Arthur, “though you did eat enough at that picnic to last you several days.” “Well, here’s a funny thing,” cried Henry Burns, who had been rummaging about in the cupboard. “The parties who were here before us didn’t believe in starving. And they didn’t believe in living on fishermen’s fare, either.” And Henry Burns brought forth three empty wine-bottles and a half-emptied jar of imported preserves. “Here are some tins that contained turkey and some kinds of game,” he added. “The fishermen don’t buy that sort of canned stuff. It must have been a party of yachtsmen that used this place last.” “They might have had the fairness to fasten the door after them, whoever they were,” said George Warren. “Perhaps the wine accounts for that,” said Henry Burns. “I’m glad they left us some preserves,” said young Joe.