"JEE-RUSALEM, fellers," said Skinny a few days later, "we're going to have a campfire to-night on Bob's Hill. Mr. Norton, the Scoutmaster, is going to be there, and he says for us not to eat too much supper because there will be something doing along about eight o'clock. It will beat the Fourth of July."
We hardly could wait for evening to come. The folks thought that I must be sick because I didn't want much supper, until I told them about the campfire.
"You'd better eat a bowl of bread and milk, anyhow," said Ma. "If I know anything about boys, and I have seen a few in my day, you will be ready for another meal by eight o'clock."
I don't know how it is, but things always seem to happen just as Ma says they will. Long before eight o'clock came we were waiting for Mr. Norton at our house, as hungry as bears.
After a while he came along, lugging a big basket and wearing a smile that would have made us warm to him if we never had before.
"Captain," said he to Skinny, "if you will detail two of your men to bring some water, we'll get started. Of course, if we were going to make a regular camp we should see that there was water near. We'll have to carry it this time, but it isn't far to the top of the hill. One of you might help me with this basket; there seems to be something in it."
Fifteen minutes later we were all at the top of the hill and had brought some sticks from Plunkett's woods for a fire and a curl of birch bark to kindle it with.
"I understand that you boys came near burning up the woods and village once with a fire up here," said Mr. Norton. "We must be careful about that. Fire is a good servant but a very hard master. We do not need a big blaze for a campfire, so hot that we cannot sit around it. All we need is just enough to look cheerful, to heat our coffee, and furnish enough hot coals for cooking this beefsteak."
He was unpacking the basket while he talked, and Skinny was lighting the fire.
"I don't know that I can tell you anything about making fires and cooking. You boys just about live out of doors in summer, so far as I have observed. You are in great luck to have your homes in a small village. If you should play some of your pranks in a city, I am afraid that you might become unpopular and the police might get after you. Boys in great cities, like Chicago or New York, know little of the freedom and sweetness of country life."