“They’re mighty good,” said the doctor. “Experimenting cooks generally have a sub-conscious instinct that carries them along when they seem to be going blindly. But it’s difficult to work with them. They are always dictatorial and inclined to treat the assistant as a scullery maid.”
Billie groaned.
“I hope Alberdina, strong and fearless, will relieve us of that awful scullery work. I have a feeling it would be a reflection on my character and on the Campbell family if I didn’t leave every pan bright and shining, but oh, dear, it’s work! I think if I had to keep it up I should cook everything together, vegetables and meat, in one big kettle full of boiling water.”
“That wouldn’t be such a bad mess,” laughed the doctor. “The vegetable and meat juices would make a rich broth and you could serve soup, meat and vegetables all in one plate. Think of the saving of that.”
“As Cousin Helen said, it wouldn’t take campers long to revert to savagery,” ejaculated Billie. “We are already as brown as Indians. We keep our sleeves rolled up and our collars turned in and wear creepers instead of shoes, and always khaki skirts, and never dress for supper. Even Cousin Helen has slipped back a peg—”
“It’s the only possible way to enjoy camping,” broke in the doctor. “But you would never get to be an all the way savage. Look at that remarkable young woman, Miss Phoebe, who has never had anything else in all her life,—she is far from being a savage.”
“Indeed she is,” said Billie. “She has never been to school in her life, but she knows a great deal more about some things than I do—astronomy, for instance, and English history.”
“There is more than that,” put in Elinor, leaning over to join in the conversation. “Phoebe has learned something else that keeps her from ever being ill or tired or unhappy. I asked her what it was and she said it was a secret.”
“Speaking of angels,” remarked Ben, “there is Phoebe in front of us now, carrying a basket. I suppose she is going to the Antler’s Inn to sell some of her father’s work.”
Far ahead of them, swinging along the dusty road, was Phoebe. Her tall, slender figure swayed gracefully with the movement of the walk, but her shoulders did not bend under the burden of the large basket. A hot, dry wind blew her skirts about her and flapped the brim of her jimmie hat. Since the night at Sunrise Camp, Phoebe had never gone barefooted again, and she now wore a pair of canvas creepers that gave a spring to her step as she hurried along.