'Bread, tea, an' trout,' growled Chippy, 'an' a nailin' good brekfus too. I wish as everybody 'ad got as good.'
'Right for you, old boy,' replied Dick; 'which trout shall we have?'
'Yourn, the big un,' replied the Raven. 'I'll show yer how to cook 'im proper.'
The fire had burned away to the glowing embers which the camp cook loves, and Chippy, having gutted the fish, broiled it in the hot ashes, while Dick boiled water, and made the tea, and cut more slices from the loaf.
Then they attacked the broiled trout, and, big as it was, they made it look rather foolish before they had finished. The piece that was left Chippy wrapped up in dock-leaves and stowed away in the haversack.
'Come in handy next go,' he remarked.
After breakfast they sat for an hour to see the fire out, and Chippy took the line from the rod and put it away.
Then they got into marching trim again, took their staves in their hands, and set off up the valley. Twice or thrice they looked back at the spot where they had made their first camp, but soon a spinney hid it from their view.
'Good old spot,' said Dick. 'I shall never forget it. It was a jolly good camp for a start, Chippy.'
'Yus,' agreed the Raven, 'spite o' the jackass. Theer he is.'