"All right. How do we begin?"
"Well, we gather a lot of wood first. Come on."
Marjorie came on, and they worked with a will, gathering armfuls of wood and piling it up near the spot they had selected for their fire.
"That's enough," said Marjorie, for her arms ached as she laid down her last contribution to their collection.
"You'll find it isn't much when it gets to burning. But never mind, it will make a start. I'll skin up to the house and get matches and potatoes."
"I'll go with you, 'cause I think we'd better ask Father about making this fire. It might do some harm."
"Fiddlesticks! We made a fire 'most every day last summer."
And, owing to King's knowledge and experience regarding beach fires, his father told him he might build one, and to be properly careful about not setting fire to themselves.
Then they procured potatoes and apples from the kitchen, and raced back to the beach.
"Why, where's our wood?" cried Marjorie.