Bettyregretted her recklessness in speaking out her thought about tramps several times during the next two or three hours. Grace repeated what she had said to Mollie and Amy when they came back with the provisions. Mollie only laughed and said:
“That’s a long shot, Gracie, and I, for one, will bet there has never been a tramp within five miles of this place.”
Amy took the idea more seriously.
However, as there was plenty of work still to be done before dark they soon forgot everything but the delight of making a real, “honest-to-goodness” camp.
Betty and Amy had stacked up a huge pile of firewood while Mollie and Amy lugged up the blanket rolls and other paraphernalia from theGemand Betty busied herself with making a fireplace that would have done credit to many a more experienced woodsman.
First she scooped out enough soft earth to make a fairly deep hole which was about a foot and a half wide across the top. The inside of the hole she lined with stones and small pieces of rock, building up a sort of stone “fence” around the top of it.
And then looking about her for something that might serve to put over the top of her “stove” she came across what was undoubtedly the find of that afternoon. This was a large wire grill—rusted and old, to be sure—but a gift of the gods, nevertheless.
“Look here, girls! Who says we’re not lucky?” she fairly crowed, holding up the “find” before their enraptured eyes. “If we don’t have a good supper to-night, then it won’t be because we haven’t a per-fect-ly marvelous stove.”
“Hooray!” cried Mollie, waving a frying pan joyfully about her head. “Which shall it be, Little Captain? Bacon and eggs or potatoes and onions?”
Betty’s eyes twinkled.
“From the way I feel,” she said, “I think it had better be both.”
“So be it,” replied Mollie, happily, and a moment later was busy finding the potatoes and onions.
“Here,” she said, shoving the latter strong-smellingvegetable in Grace’s direction. “Stop looking in your mirror, vain thing, and get busy. You peel the onions and I’ll tend to the potatoes.”
“Such lack of delicacy,” sighed Grace, as she obediently put away her mirror and took up an onion. “Who suggested onions, anyway? They always make my eyes water.”
“Notice you eat ’em just the same,” returned Mollie, unfeelingly, adding, as Betty put a match to the fire which she and Grace had laid with the greatest care: “Whee, there goes Betty. That’s right, old girl, let her roar!”
“Such language!” laughed Betty, as she turned her face away from the flood of smoke that threatened to suffocate her.
The blaze from the dry wood leapt up merrily and the girls gave a whoop of sheer joy.
“This is the life!” cried Mollie, putting even more than her usual “pep” into the peeling of potatoes. “Hustle up, Gracie, and we’ll soon have an aroma around this little old camp that will draw the hungry coyotes for miles around.”
“Goodness, I hope not,” said Betty, as she put a generous supply of butter in the frying pan and Grace dumped her first consignment of onions into it where they sizzled and fried delightfully. “If we attracted too many animals I doubt if we’dhave enough onions to go around. More butter, Gracie?”
“Oh, pile it on,” returned Grace, extravagantly. “You can’t have too much butter when you’re frying onions. Got those potatoes ready, Mollie? The onions are browning.”
“Right here,” replied Mollie, as she added the potatoes to the golden brown deliciousness in the frying pan. “Now what shall I do next, Betty?”
“You might get out the bacon,” suggested the Little Captain. “We’ll be ready for it in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I guess our fire needs more wood.”
And while Mollie rummaged for the bacon and Betty put more wood on the fire Amy “set the table.” There was home-made nut bread which Mrs. Billette herself had prepared for them, delicious ginger cookies, a jar of home-made preserves, and a huge coffee cake contributed by Mrs. Nelson.
“Looks as if we wouldn’t starve,” remarked Grace, contentedly. “Get out that pack of paper dishes and napkins, Amy, and we’ll be ready to eat. The grub’s ready.”
“Such language!” exclaimed Amy, as she set out four paper plates, four paper cups, and two or three larger plates which she announced werevegetable dishes. “You should say ‘Dinner is served.’”
“Grub’s all right,” protested Grace. “When in camp speak the language of campers, you know.”
“Bacon and eggs are ready,” announced Mollie at this point. “Who wants some?”
“What a question!” laughed Betty. “Here, hold your plates, everybody. First come gets the biggest piece of bacon.”
There was some wild old scrabbling over this, with Amy coming out winner.
“You nearly pushed me into the butter,” complained Grace, when Amy returned triumphantly with her prize.
“Goodness, what a waste of good butter,” Amy retorted.
Any one who has, after several hours’ work in the fresh air, been treated to potatoes and onions and bacon and eggs, to say nothing of nut bread and coffee cake, can appreciate just how the Outdoor Girls enjoyed that supper.
Not until they had cooked a second panful of bacon and eggs and cleared up the last scraps of coffee cake, did the girls really feel satisfied.
Then, after lazing for a few minutes, they scouted about to find some water in which to wash their cooking utensils. They found it inthe form of a delightful little spring that fed the merriest of merry little brooks further down the ravine.
It was an enchanted spot, there beside the brook—rich, heavy moss beneath their feet, the tinkle of rushing water in their ears, the chirping of sleepy birds overhead.
They lingered there, held by the beauty of the spot until reminded by the growing dusk that they must complete preparations for the night before complete darkness fell.
So, having filled a pail with water, they returned reluctantly to their camp and placed the pail over the fire. In a few moments the water was bubbling merrily and Mollie began briskly to wash the cutlery and utensils they had used.
“All the comforts of home,” she laughed. “Even hot dish water. Who could ask for more?”
“And while you girls are fixing the dishes,” said the Little Captain, “I guess I’d better get busy and make up the beds for the night. It won’t be so easy to do after dark.”
“Beds,” echoed the girls, staring up at her. It was honestly the first time they had realized the need for beds.
“That’s what I said,” returned Betty, whimsically. “They may only consist of a couple ofblankets apiece but we can call ’em what we like.”
“What’s in a name?” murmured Grace, adding wistfully: “Oh, my comfy home and my still more comfy bed.”
“Stop it,” commanded Mollie. “You know very well, home was never like this. What if we do have to sleep with nothing but blankets between us and the cold, cold ground for one night? It will be all the more fun.”
As Betty began to spread the blankets within the shelter of the tent Amy came in to see if she could help her and Betty welcomed her gratefully.
“I can’t seem to manage the old things alone,” she said. “The blankets are so big and the tent is so small. Spread down that corner, will you, Amy—there’s a dear. Now, I wonder,” she paused to consider, “if one blanket under us and one over will be enough.”
“More than enough, I should say, considering that the night is just about as hot as any we’ve had,” said Amy. “I’d just as soon sleep without anything over me.”
“Oh, you’ll need a cover toward morning,” said Betty, as she spread four blankets side by side in a neat row, doubling the edges under so that thebeds when finished resembled nothing so much as sleeping bags. “It gets pretty cold around dawn out here in the woods. Now,” she added, regarding her finished work thoughtfully, “I guess that’s about as right as I can make it.”
“It’s just fine,” returned Amy, enthusiastically, adding as she slipped an arm fondly about the Little Captain: “You always know just what to do to make people comfortable, Betty dear. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Oh, nonsense,” retorted Betty gayly. “Probably you’d get along a good deal better. Now let’s go out and see what those girls are doing.”
Mollie and Grace were very busy as Amy and the Little Captain stepped from the tent. They were gathering more firewood—enough, Mollie explained, to make a “rip-roaring campfire.”
Betty and Amy went to work with them and it was not long before they had a pile of wood large enough to satisfy even their longing in the matter of a fire.
Then, having piled the dried timber up neatly with a skill born of long experience, they fired it and stood about happily as the flames licked upward, crackling and hissing merrily.
As the blaze grew the heat from the fire became intense and they were forced to retreatfrom it almost to the opening of their tent. Here they flung themselves to the ground, watching the flames in dreamy content.
“Well, Amy, are you satisfied?” asked Grace at last, breaking a rather long silence. “You wanted a fire, you know.”
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” returned Amy, happily. “Don’t you think it needs a little more wood on this end, Betty?”
“Perhaps,” said the Little Captain, lazily. “Can you reach the wood, Amy?”
For answer Amy threw a handful of twigs on the blaze where they twisted and sputtered, sending out that acrid smell of burning wood that is so beloved of campers.
“I wonder,” said Mollie, breaking another long silence, “what happened to Henry Blackford’s shack, anyway. It’s sort of mysterious, burning down all by itself.”
“That’s probably something we’ll never know,” said Betty, softly.
And so they sat about their campfire, not realizing the swift passing of time till the blaze burned low and in its flickering glow Betty looked at her watch.
Then she began softly to whistle “Taps.”