But it was too late. Rob had grasped the stone with all his usual impetuosity, and the leaves had shrivelled up instantly, like cobwebs, the stone was so hot. He let it fall back into the fire, and danced about, shaking his burnt fingers, and screwing up his face very hard, to keep from crying.
"Oh, that was too bad, Rob!" cried Nelly. "Why didn't you let me get it out?"
"You get it out!" cried Rob, quite angry; "you get it out! I'd like to see you! That's the way Billy took his out. There isn't any other way."
Nelly had run off a few steps for a big stick. Presently she came back; and, without saying a word to Rob, put the end of the stick under the stone, and lifted it up and rolled it over and over, till she had it entirely out of the ashes and hot brands, and on a smooth, clean place in the grass. Then she took a little twig, and held it close to the stone, to see if it were still hot. The twig smoked.
"Oh! it's lots too hot," said Rob, meekly. "What made you think of that way of getting it out, Nell?"
"I don't know," said Nelly: "your burning your fingers, I guess."
Then they cut open two nice trout, and Rob scraped them clean with his knife; and, as soon as the stone was cool enough, they laid them on the hot stone. Oh, how good they smelled as soon as they began to cook, and the fat began to ooze out! When the under side was nice and brown, Rob turned them over with two sticks carefully; and, in a few minutes more, they were done. Then he stuck a pointed stick through the biggest one, and handed it very politely to Nelly, saying:—
"Won't you be helped to some fish, Miss Nelly March?"
Nelly held out two pointed sticks to take it; and then she ran round and round with it, for a minute, to cool it; and then she took it by the tail and ate it up in less time than it has taken to write this page. Rob ate his more slowly.
"Oh, I wish we had cooked four," said Nelly.