“Well,” cried Phil, “you ought to be thankful, Chap, for your legs.”
“Legs?” said Chap.
“Yes,” answered Phil, laughing. “The moment I got a good sight of them, I remembered that besides Chap Webster, there wasn’t another fellow of fifteen with a thirty-year old pair of legs.”
“I saw ’twas a boy, too,” said Adam, “and he skipped down in a way that seemed to me mighty nat’ral to somebody.”
“They are a good pair of legs,” said Chap, looking down at his long extremities, “and they often come in handy.”
“Now then,” cried Adam, “we’ll build a fire and have our supper as soon as we can, and we’ll do the rest of our talkin’ while we are eatin’.”
It was almost too dark now to find firewood, but everybody helped to look for it.
One of the Indians went to a spring near by for water. Very soon a bright fire was blazing upon the beach, a potful of coffee was bubbling on the coals, while a pan of bacon sizzled near by.
There was enough for all, and everybody was invited to the repast, the cups, saucers, and plates from The Rolling Stone being made to do as much duty as possible.
Mary Brown declined to stay to supper.