“Wonderful!” agreed Grace.
“All but the fairies,” answered Stacy.
“We have a gnome,” suggested Emma, glancing at Chunky. “Fairies don’t stuff themselves. They live on atmosphere.”
“This fairy doesn’t live on atmosphere,” retorted Stacy. “He takes his belt off, if necessary, too.”
“I would suggest that you take it off now and get to work. We have plenty of it to do,” reminded Tom Gray.
All hands turned to, to help the cook, for they were hungry, and it was natural that they should be, for climbing mountains in the High Country is hard, grilling work.
Supper was a busy rather than a lively affair, but after supper the Overlanders found their tongues and were soon engaged in good-natured raillery, but they were quite ready to turn in when Tom Gray whistled “taps.” This time there was no hesitancy on the part of anyone to sleeping on the ground, and they dropped off to sleep with the tinkling of the bells of the pack-horses in their ears, the rich perfumes of flowers in their nostrils, their senses lulled pleasantly by the song of the locusts and strange insects that none remembered ever to have heard of before.
The camp was awake shortly after daybreak. Once more Stacy Brown had to be urged forth to wrangle the horses. He protested loudly when Elfreda pointed to the opposite slope, which Chunky must climb, for the animals were nowhere in sight.
“I suppose I might as well go out. I always get the fag-end of the stick,” grumbled Stacy.
“Never mind, Chunky. I’ll fetch the horses,” offered Tom.