“Ugh!” shuddered Elinor.
In the meantime Edward had opened a bundle containing a large juicy beefsteak which he cut into small round pieces. Percy was engaged in peeling and slicing potatoes and Timothy was putting half a dozen Bermuda onions through the same process.
“Ready, mates?” called Percy.
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the others. And with that they began spearing slices of the meat and vegetables on a long stick and between every potato slice and section of beefsteak, they sandwiched a slice of bacon, then came another piece of potato, then a slice of onion and then the beefsteak again.
“Now for the salt and pepper, gentlemen. Build up the fire a little, Charlie. Swing him over. Who says we are not cooks?”
Resting neatly in the crotchet of the two upright sticks, this unusual arrangement of meat and vegetables began sending out a sizzling, appetizing odor while the four cooks danced a wild Indian war dance around the fire.
“Dear me, it does smell good,” admitted Billie at last. “I’m beginning to think I may lose that pound of candy, Percy.”
“Spread the cloth, Charlie, dear,” called Percy in a high woman’s voice which always made them laugh. “Lady Elinor may make the tea now, and Miss Nancy-Bell may cut the cake. I’m head chef of this kitchen. That’s the reason I give so many orders. Timothy, suppose you entertain the guests with one of your stunts while the beefsteak is cooking.”
“Do ‘The Battle of Marathon,’ Timothy,” ordered Billie.
Timothy rose obediently and made a bashful bow.