“From the way I feel,” she said, “I think it had better be both.”
“So be it,” replied Mollie, happily, and a moment later was busy finding the potatoes and onions.
“Here,” she said, shoving the latter strong-smelling vegetable in Grace’s direction. “Stop looking in your mirror, vain thing, and get busy. You peel the onions and I’ll tend to the potatoes.”
“Such lack of delicacy,” sighed Grace, as she obediently put away her mirror and took up an onion. “Who suggested onions, anyway? They always make my eyes water.”
“Notice you eat ’em just the same,” returned Mollie, unfeelingly, adding, as Betty put a match to the fire which she and Grace had laid with the greatest care: “Whee, there goes Betty. That’s right, old girl, let her roar!”
“Such language!” laughed Betty, as she turned her face away from the flood of smoke that threatened to suffocate her.
The blaze from the dry wood leapt up merrily and the girls gave a whoop of sheer joy.
“This is the life!” cried Mollie, putting even more than her usual “pep” into the peeling of potatoes. “Hustle up, Gracie, and we’ll soon have an aroma around this little old camp that will draw the hungry coyotes for miles around.”
“Goodness, I hope not,” said Betty, as she put a generous supply of butter in the frying pan and Grace dumped her first consignment of onions into it where they sizzled and fried delightfully. “If we attracted too many animals I doubt if we’d have enough onions to go around. More butter, Gracie?”
“Oh, pile it on,” returned Grace, extravagantly. “You can’t have too much butter when you’re frying onions. Got those potatoes ready, Mollie? The onions are browning.”