"Whatever do you mean?" asked Rosalie with round eyes.
"That's so, and that's why, as I wasn't able to borrow a saucepan to cook my soup in and a spoon to eat it with, I had to make them and I can tell you that it was harder for me to make my spoon than to make my shoes."
"You're joking!"
"No, really."
Then she told her everything, how she had taken possession of the cabin, and made her own cooking utensils, and about her search for eggs, and how she fished and cooked in the gypsy's camping ground.
Rosalie's eyes opened wider still in wonder and delight. She seemed to be listening to a wonderful story.
When Perrine told her how she made her first sorrel soup, she clapped her hands.
"Oh, how delicious! How you must have enjoyed it!" she cried. "What fun!"
"Yes, everything is great fun when things go right," said Perrine; "but when things won't go! I worked three days for my spoon. I couldn't scoop it out properly. I spoiled two large pieces of tin and had only one left. And my! how I banged my fingers with the stones that I had to use in place of a hammer!"
"But your soup, that's what I'm thinking of," said Rosalie.