The door behind was pushed open and the hermit re-entered. He bore a flat stone and a wooden bowl, and knelt down with them before the fire. The glowing embers he heaped together and with the aid of a large pebble set the flat stone at an angle before them. Then from the wooden bowl he emptied a thick paste of coarse meal upon the baking stone, and smoothed it with a wooden paddle.
Rising he said:
"I fear my rude ways will not appetize you, but I can only offer you what cheer I have."
The aroma of the cooking meal began to fill the room.
"Please don't apologize," pleaded Constance. "My only hope is that I can restrain myself until the food is ready."
"I'll ask you to watch the bread for a moment," the hermit said, turning the stone a little.
"And if I let it burn you may punish me as the goodwife did King Alfred," answered Constance. Then a glow came into her cheeks that was not all of the fire, for the man's eyes—they were deep, burning eyes—were fixed upon her, and he seemed to hang on her every word. Yet he smiled without replying, and again disappeared.
"Conny," admonished Frank, "if you let anything happen to that cake I'll eat the stone."
So they watched the pone carefully, turning it now and then, though the embers glowed very hot and a certain skill was necessary.
The hermit returned presently with a number of the trout dressed, and these were in a frying-pan that had a long wooden handle, which Constance and Frank held between them, while their host installed two large potatoes in the hot ashes. Then he went away for a little and placed some things on the table in the middle of the room, returning now and then to superintend matters. And presently the fish and the cakes and the potatoes were ready, and the ravenous wanderers did not wait to be invited twice to partake of them. The thunder still rolled at intervals and the rain still beat at the door, but they did not heed. Within, the cheer, if not luxurious, was plenteous and grateful. The table furnishings were rude and chiefly of home make. But the guests were young, strong of health and appetite, and no king's table could have supplied goodlier food. Oh, never were there such trout as those, never such baked potatoes, nor never such hot, delicious hoecake. And beside each plate stood a bowl of fruit—berries—delicious fresh raspberries of the hills.