“I wonder if she can cook,” was Billie’s unpoetic reply.
During these brief moments they had lingered on the dusty gallery, and now Mr. Campbell, eager as a boy for their approval, led them through the broad opening into the only room of the camp, of which they had caught glimpses as they waited outside. But they were quite unprepared for its vast size, capped by the unceiled roof now fast filling with shadows.
“Why, it’s really grand,” cried Miss Campbell, with a sudden spurt of enthusiasm. “It’s like a cathedral.”
“Isn’t it fine?” answered Mr. Campbell. “I think the primeval huts must have looked like this, and when it came time to build churches it wasn’t a very far cry.”
“I expect Mr. Primeval Man would have been mighty glad to have had one of those nice Morris chairs,” observed Billie.
“It would have been good-by to cathedrals then,” answered her father. “Mr. Primeval Man would have passed so much of his time in the easy chair that he would never have got beyond the age of dull-edged tools.”
And in this thoroughly modern primeval hut there were plenty of inducements to be lazy. Grouped about the stone chimney of an immense open fire-place were numerous easy chairs, and ranged against the dim confines of the walls were quite half a dozen cots to be used by people who might prefer to sleep indoors, Mr. Campbell explained.
The heads of several deer with branching antlers looked down at them from the walls, and on the floor in front of the fire-place was stretched the skin of a great black bear.
“Papa, I think it’s really beautiful,” exclaimed Billie, rubbing her cheek against her father’s shoulder.