“I suppose there isn’t any water hereabouts to wash in. You know they teach us to be sanitary in the reformatories.”
He pointed to a jar.
“I always carry some in the car. Help yourself.”
“Arctic ablutions never appeal to me,” she said when she had used the cold water freely and returned to the fire. “I found another left-over in the shape of a sandwich minus the pork, so we can each have a slice of toast with our coffee.”
She put a piece of bread on a forked stick and held it out to the blaze. He did the same with the other half of the sandwich. Then they partook of a meagre but welcome breakfast.
“Look!” he said presently in an awed voice.
The sun was sending a glorious searchlight of gold over the highest hill-line.
“Swell, isn’t it?” she commented cheerily.
Her choice of adjectives repelled any further comments on Nature by him.
“I’m not used to sleeping out,” she said, as he carefully raked over the remains of the fire, “and it didn’t seem to rest me. Thank you for making me so comfortable, Mr. Walters.”