“I know I’m going to have my favorite cake,” crowed Cleo. “Did you ever see such a perfectly scrumbunctious food shower?”
“Never,” agreed Grace, “and I do hope there’s something to keep in my box, for we can’t be sure of our own cooking all the time, you know.”
“Don’t you like it?” defied Corene. She was not willing to have the commissary department thus suspected.
“Oh, yes, Corey, and your codfish made with condensed milk is so—new, and sweetish——”
Corene threw a paper box cover at the head of her tormentor but Miss Mackin did not see the deprecation.
Then the spread was ready, and the company sat down to a camp table laden with home made goodies.
“This is one real joy of the small camp,” Miss Mackin explained. “In the larger camps they do not generally permit the importing of food; but for Comalong it’s a real blessing. You see, we have just been experimenting with our little furnace, and there’s the camp kettle,” she pointed out the inclined pole with its kettle on end, that hung over one of Julia’s furnaces. “And we haven’t tried baking cakes since we came,” she admitted with an explanatory laugh.
“But the pan cakes? Aren’t they all right, Mackey?” asked Cleo. She had “tried” pan cakes once or twice.
“Yes, indeed, Cleo. You did very well with those,” praised the director, “but for real chocolate cake——”
“And fudge cake!” exclaimed Louise.