"Come on," he suggested as he sprang to his feet and began picking up dry twigs. "You can start in and munch on those heavenly biscuits while this terrible Yankee builds the fire." Cary made a move as if to help; but Morrison checked him.
"Oh, no, Cary, just you keep on sitting still. This is no work for you. You're tired out.
"Here, Virgie, I know you want to get me some water from the spring. Please pick out the cleanest pieces of water you can and put them carefully in the coffee pot. All right. There you are. 'Tention! Carr-ee coffee pot! Right wheel! March!"
With a carefree laugh he turned away to light the little heap of twigs he had placed between two flat stones. "It's mighty considerate of my boys to leave us all these things. We'll call it the raid of Black Gum Spring.
"And here comes the little lady with the coffee pot filled just right. Now watch me pour in the good old coffee—real coffee, Virgie dear—not made from aco'ns." He settled the pot on the fire and sat back with a grin. "Oh, oh! Don't watch it," he cried, in well feigned alarm as Virgie, unwilling to believe the sight, stooped over to feast her eyes on the rich brown powder sinking into the black gulf of the pot. "If you do that it will never, never boil!"
"All right," the child agreed pathetically, and she sank wearily down against her father's knee. "I'll just pray for it to hurry up."
The two men exchanged quiet smiles and Cary murmured something in his daughter's ear.
"Oh, no, I won't," she answered, and then looked up at Morrison with a roguish light in her dark eyes. "He's only afraid I'll pray so terribly hard that the old coffee pot will boil over an' put out the fire."
Morrison, chuckling, now began to drag something out of a rear pocket. Presently, he uncorked it and held it up—a flask!
"Here, Cary," he said, holding out a cup. "Join me, won't you? Of course, you understand—in case a snake should bite us."