“Sam and Dick, wake up, we’ve struck a, bonanza!” he cried, and hauled both from under the covers.  All laughed heartily, and marched down to the dining room with the stockings over their shoulders.

“A merry Christmas to Uncle Randolph from of us,” said Tom, handing over a much coveted volume on agriculture.  “And a merry Christmas to Aunt Martha from three bad boys,” added Sam, and turned over a fancy work-basket, both presents having been purchased at Ithaca on the journey home.

“Ha!  Just what I desired!” said Randolph Rover, adjusting his spectacles.  “I am very much obliged, boys —­ I am, indeed!”

“Such a pretty basket!” murmured Mrs. Rover.  “It was very good of you!” and she, hugged each lad in his turn.  Then came more presents —­ neckties, collars, and gloves for the boys, besides a book for each written by a favorite juvenile writer.

“The snow is two feet deep!” said Dick, after an inspection, when breakfast had come to an end.  “We’re booked for the house today!”

“We’ll wait until afternoon,” said Mr. Rover.

It was a happy time, even if they were snowed in.  Soon the warm sun came out and brought the snow down a little.  “Best kind of sleighing now,” said the hired man, and drove around the biggest sleigh on the place.  All tumbled in, and the party did not return until after midnight.

CHAPTER XXI

SOMETHING ABOUT THE PAST

During holiday week the boys took occasion to tell their uncle all of the particulars concerning the tramp called Buddy, Arnold Baxter, and his son the bully.  It is needless to state that Randolph Rover listened to their story with interest.

“I would like to meet this man with a scar on his chin,” he said.  “Speaking of him reminds me of something that happened years ago.”

“What was it, Uncle Randolph?” questioned Tom.

“Your father had an enemy who had a scar on his chin.”

“What!” cried Sam.  “Could it have been this Arnold Baxter?”

“Hardly, although such a thing is possible.  This man was a Westerner, and laid claim to some property owned by your father.  They had a quarrel, and the fellow shot your father in the arm and then ran away.  I never learned any of the particulars.”

“Arnold Baxter and this Buddy spoke about a mining claim, and about some papers,” burst out Tom.  “I’d like to wager he is the same chap!”

“If he is, you want to beware of him,” responded Randolph Rover gravely.  “He is your father’s deadliest enemy.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Dick, and his brothers nodded.  The matter was talked over for several hours, but brought little satisfaction.

On New Year’s Day came another fall of snow, and the lads spent the afternoon in a regular snowballing match among themselves and with the hired man.  Poor Jack caught it on all sides, and after quarter of an hour’s bombardment was glad enough to run to the barn, for shelter.  “But it’s great sport,” he grinned, as he almost stood on his head trying to get from the back of his neck a soft snowball which Tom had planted there.