This was an agreeable suggestion and settled the discussion without more words. In this high, dry climate appetites were too big to mention in polite society, and each one yearned for the comfort of her evening meal.
In another twenty minutes Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids had gone into camp. At the side of the road was a group of scraggy pine trees, and under these they pitched the blanket tent. While Billie and Nancy, armed with a hatchet, went in search of firewood, the other girls unpacked the alcohol stove and the tea basket and Mr. Moore’s box of provisions. In a little while the two foragers returned with their arms loaded with firewood. Their cheeks were glowing with exercise and there was a sparkling freshness in their happy laughter.
“We’ve turned wood choppers,” cried Nancy. “We found a dead pine tree, and lo and behold, we’ve converted it into logs.”
Together they built a fire on a most scientific plan and presently the fragrance of broiled ham filled them with pleasurable but subdued anticipation.
“Scramble the eggs now, Mary,” ordered Elinor as she brewed the tea.
“I think my girls are very capable,” observed Miss Campbell, watching the proceedings with much pride from her cushion seat near the fire. “If we live through this night we shall have much to tell about.”
“Just imagine you’re a gypsy, Cousin Helen,” called Billie, as she spread a lunch cloth on the ground. “And nothing ever happens to gypsies, although they live this way all the time.”
Nancy set the table with the jam pot in the middle for decoration, and presently they sat down like a company of hungry boys eager to be helped.
“Oh, how good things taste,” exclaimed Elinor. “I’m not a bit afraid out here in the dark. My only sensations are hunger and sleep.”