As the Heron grazed the landing, the children swarmed ashore, dragging Drunkard after them. Like a flock of wild ducks they spread over the place, fluttering about the soldier and the Russian who surveyed them kindly, but not in the worshipful way in which he had greeted my young master. Not one of the children touched his fancy as Dallas did.
"We're starving—can't we have our picnic, Mother?" they cried, and Mrs. Devering said to her husband, "You've kept them too long on the lake; they're more quicksilvery than ever."
"Who'll boss about the fire?" called Champ shrilly. "Speak, Mother, quick, please."
"Is thy servant a dog?" she asked good-naturedly, then she added, "Big Chief, with Cassowary for first assistant."
Didn't those children scurry about in search of firewood, though the soldier motioned them politely to his wood-pile!
Dallas and I trotted after them. The bush was full of broken branches and trees lying across each other.
"Oh! the poor people in the big cities," I thought, "if they could only have some of these nice dry sticks."
Back of the green sitting-room was a huge rock with a kind of natural fireplace. Here Big Chief started the fire with birch bark and dry twigs, and soon there was a roaring blaze tearing up the stone chimney.
When the coals were nice and red, Big Chief sent Champ to dip in the river the sticks from which the water kettle was to be suspended, then Cassowary got out the frying-pan and began doing the bacon.