“Duck,” choked Percy.
But the Gypsy cooks had noticed nothing. They were too absorbed with straining the beans and the onions now cooked to shreds, from the adamantine potatoes. The cooked vegetables they arranged in the bottom of a large meat platter as a becoming bed for the mock duck which Billie, with mingled feelings of fear and triumph, now prepared to loose from his fastenings with a long fork and the historic carving knife. But Mock Duck to the end was a rogue and a trickster. The poor little cook had just loosened him from the spit and was holding him precariously on the prong of a fork, when he gave a malicious leap into the air and plunged into the very centre of the hot embers. Instantly a circle of flames rose high about him and the air was charged with the fumes of burning flesh.
“Oh, oh!” shrieked Billie. “Help! Help!”
They did what they could to save the remnants of Mock Duck. Ben singed his eyebrows in an effort to spear him on a fork and raise him from his fiery bed. They were all very quick but the flames were quicker, and when at last Mock Duck was lifted from the embers his form was no longer recognizable and the surface of his outer covering was burned to a cinder.
The two little Gypsy cooks wept with disappointment. They had worked so hard and were so hot and tired and hungry.
Their friends were consumed with pity.
“There, there,” cried Dr. Hume, too tender hearted to look upon tears without being moved. “Don’t cry, little cooks. Look at all this nice gravy and these delicious vegetables.”
“Why, my dearest children, you mustn’t mind,” exclaimed Miss Campbell. “See what a beautiful mixture we can have. Pour the gravy right into the platter with the beans and onions. We’ll eat it on bread.”
How callous do the most fastidious become after a few weeks in camp!
“Come, come, there’s no time to be lost,” exclaimed the starving Percy.