“Go get some dry twigs, Terry!” she said.
“Where will I find anything dry in this fog? Why not use the alcohol stove?” asked Terry.
“We’d better save that. You don’t know how long we’ll have to stay out here and in another hour things will be still wetter. You can hardly see Skybird now, the fog is so thick.”
Terry scrambled around the rocks, digging into crevices for dry roots and twigs. Prim broke them into tiny bits and made a neat little pile.
“Some fire!” teased Terry. “Just big enough to heat something in a spoon.”
“You needn’t laugh, Terry Mapes! You know well enough I’m a champion fire builder and I say that the smaller your fire is, the better. You only want blaze enough to cover the bottom of your kettle. If it comes out beyond that it’s apt to make your food smoky.”
“All right, have it your own way,” said Terry with a laugh. “I leave it all to you. Just as long as you don’t ask me to cook, I’ll let you do anything you want to do. Here’s the tin egg box.”
Soon the smell of bacon and eggs made them ravenous. They found a shelter under a wind-stunted tree and spread out their meal.
“Isn’t it delicious!” exclaimed Prim. “I don’t believe food is as good when cooked over a gas fire. I’m sure I never tasted anything like these fried eggs.”
“No need to ask me if I enjoy them. Just watch my speed,” returned Terry, buttering a slice of bread. “That’s one nice thing about aviators, they never pick over their food. They’re always hungry!”