"Oh! you do, do you?" said Bindle, "an' who 'appens to supply the brass double-bedstead wot me and Mrs. B. is used to sleep on. P'raps you can tell me that, young shaver?"
Before the lad had time to reply, Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance of the tent, grimmer and more uncompromising than ever. For a moment she eyed the lad severely.
"Where am I to sleep?" she demanded.
"Are you with this gentleman?" enquired the boy scout.
"She is, sonny," said Bindle, "been with me for twenty years now. Can't lose 'er no'ow."
"Bindle, behave yourself!" Mrs. Bindle's jaws closed with a snap.
"We're going to 'ave some sacks of straw in place of that missionary's bed you an' me sleeps on in Fulham," explained Bindle; but Mrs. Bindle had disappeared once more into the tent.
For the next hour the Bindles and their assistant scout were engaged in getting the bell-tent into habitable condition. During the process the scout explained that the marquee was to have been used for the communal meals, which the field-kitchen was to supply; but both had failed to arrive, and the bishop had himself gone up to London to make enquiries.
"An' wot's goin' to 'appen to us till 'e runs acrost 'em?" enquired Bindle. "I'm feelin' a bit peckish myself now—wot I'll be like in a hour's time I don't know."
"I'll show you how to build a scout-fire," volunteered the lad.