"I thought that my bird of Paradise would like them," he said softly.
"Your bird of Paradise loves them," promptly returned Chris. "In fact, if you ask me, I think she is inclined to be rather greedy. Please take the kettle off. It's spluttering. You must make the tea if I'm to cut the cake. And let's be quick, shall we? I believe it's going to rain!"
They were not very quick, however, for, as Chris herself presently remarked, one couldn't scramble over such a cake as that. And the rain came down in a sharp shower before they had finished, and drove them into the Magic Cave for shelter.
The girl's young laughter echoed weirdly along the rocky walls as she entered, and she turned with a slightly startled expression to make sure that her companion was close to her.
He had paused to rescue the remains of the feast. "Quick!" she called to him. "You will be drenched."
"Je viens vite—vite," he called back, and in a few seconds was at her side.
"Comment!" he said. "You are afraid, no?"
"No," said Chris, colouring under his look of inquiry. "But it's horribly eerie. Where is Cinders?"
A muffled bark from the depths of the cave answered her. Cinders was obviously exploring on his own account, and believed himself to be on the track of some quarry.
"Light the lantern—quick!" commanded Chris, her misgivings diverted into another channel. "We mustn't lose him. Isn't it cold!"