"I'd rather have a cake of soap and a can of hot water!" said Irene.
"Never mind!" said Leonard consolingly. "I vote we go up Pendle Tor on Monday. We can boil a kettle there, and have no end of fun. If you've never been before, I expect you'll say it makes up for this."
CHAPTER VIII
Pendle Tor
It was with much pleasurable anticipation that the picnic party set out on Whit Monday for Pendle Tor. The four younger Greenwoods were left at home, as the walk would be too far for them, but they announced their intention of climbing a small hill behind the Vicarage in the afternoon, and having an alfresco tea on their own account, which was to be equal, if not superior, to that enjoyed by their elders—"because Mary will just have finished baking, and she has promised to bring us some buns straight out of the oven, and you certainly won't get those on Pendle Tor," said Joan.
Although they might be debarred from the pleasure of hot tea-cakes, the mountaineers nevertheless did not mean to starve on their journey, to judge from the baskets full of provisions which they bore with them. Leonard had taken a milk-can that would serve to boil the water in instead of a kettle, it being lighter to carry, and having the added advantage that they could pack the teacups inside.
"You see, an iron kettle is such a weight", he explained, "and the last time we took one of those rubbishy sixpence-halfpenny tin ones the solder all melted directly we put it on to the fire, and the spout dropped off. We can sling the milk-can on a stick and prop it over the fire, and it does splendidly."
"Mind you don't break the cups!" said Irene, expecting to hear a smash after the reckless way in which the can was being swung about.
"Couldn't do it if I tried; they're all enamel ones. The Mater wouldn't trust us with her best china, I assure you."