CHAPTER VII
THE SHACK OF THE MUSKRAT TRAPPER
"Wake up, everybody!"
Bang! bang! bang! went the big spoon on the frying pan Frank held.
As the others came crawling out of the tents they sniffed the air.
"Say, that bacon smells prime!" declared Will, smacking his lips.
"Hope you didn't forget about that mess of hominy I spoke about last
night, Toby. Hominy's my great stand-by for breakfast. All right, I see
it on the fire. Give me just five minutes. If it wasn't for that gun--"
"Talk about your Ambrosia, that Java sure has it knocked clean out,"
broke in Jerry. "Me for a quick-dressing act and then grub!"
Uncle Toby grinned, for he knew what appetites boys are apt to develop
when in the woods, and, of course, he had made allowances.
They were soon gathered around the table and busy.
"What's the programme for to-day?" asked Frank, when the edge of their
appetites had been taken away.
"First thing of all I want some snapshots of the camp in the morning sun.
You can see that's the best time to get a good view. Now, just sit still,
fellows, and let me do my little trick," said Will.
They assumed grotesque positions, but the photographer refused to
stand for that.
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