“Expect to,” replied Jack, giving the man his purchases and counting out change.
“When you get to Digby would you tell the lady in the knickknack store that I’ll sell her the pitcher?”
“Glad to, if you’ll tell me how to find her.”
“Her store is the first one of its kind that you’ll pass. She catches all the tourists by a window full of trash, and a sign ‘Souvenir Shoppe’ or something like that. She was out here a few weeks ago looking for stuff, and wanted that pitcher, but the wife didn’t want to sell it then. Since she’s been sick, though, she’s more concerned about money than about old pitchers.”
After several more stops, most of which resulted in sales, Jack pulled off of the main road into a balsam grove, just before dusk.
“You children scamper around and find some dried wood for a fire,” he directed, swinging René down, and going to unharness the horses.
“Do you intend to build a fire in here, Jack?” asked Desiré doubtfully.
“No, on the sand across the road. Take some bacon and whatever else you need from the stock while I feed Dapple and Dolly.”
By the time he had made several trips with great armfuls of grass which he had pulled for the animals, Desiré had gathered together her supplies, and with the children’s help made a fire on the beach and set out their supper. When Jack appeared, he took charge of the frying of the bacon himself.
“Isn’t this fun?” demanded Priscilla every few minutes. “Just like a picnic; and lots nicer than eating in a house.”