"I'm first there," put in Tom. "I met her at the kitchen door as I went around for the oil can. And I must say I rather like that shade of hair. Our shortstop had it, and he claimed it was classic—called it mahogany, too."
The bacon sizzled merrily, the potatoes smelled "brown," and soon all was ready.
It was a queer sort of picnic—a "smoker," Tom insisted, for something happened with the fire that caused the smoke to flare back into the cabin instead of going peaceably out of the little chimney. But the boys did not mind that—they were too interested in the meal. Even Norah's good nature could scarcely estimate on a dinner of this kind. Eating seemed to cause hunger, instead of allaying the sensation.
But when everything was really gone, and each boy knew it was not possible to get another crumb, each declared he had had plenty.
Certainly it was jolly, but when Ned glanced at his watch and discovered that the noon hour had long since passed, he hurried his companions along.
"Look here," he reminded them, "we are out for evergreens. This is not a food-grabbing affair. Let's get back to the car. I don't see a blade of green around here."
"Nary a sprig," declared Tom, looking over the woodland. "Well, I suppose we will have to leave this retreat. But I hope we find it next summer. Wouldn't it be a great place to camp?"
All agreed the spot would be ideal for a summer camp, and when they had entered the Fire Bird and swung again out upon the wagon road, some of the party rather blamed the kind of holiday that required greens, when such a fine day might have been spent in the woodchopper's cabin.