Billy departed noiselessly.
“He never said ‘Plenty!’” said Wally disappointedly, gathering himself up from the grass.
“It was an oversight,” Jim laughed. “Now then, Norah, come along. What about the miserable remains?”
“The remains aren’t so miserable,” said Norah, who was on her knees gathering up the fragments of the feast. “See, there’s a lot of bread yet, ever so many scones, heaps of cake, and the fruit, to say nothing of butter and jam.” She looked up shyly at the Hermit. “Would you—would you mind having them?”
The Hermit laughed.
“Not a bit!” he said. “I’m not proud, and it is really a treat to see civilized food again. I’ll willingly act as your scavenger, Miss Norah.”
Together they packed up the remnants, and the Hermit deposited them inside his tent. He rummaged for a minute in a bag near his bed, and presently came out with something in his hand.
“I amuse myself in my many odd moments by this sort of thing,” he said. “Will you have it, Miss Norah?”
He put a photograph frame into her hand—a dainty thing, made from the native woods, cunningly jointed together and beautifully carved. Norah accepted it with pleasure.
“It’s not anything,” the Hermit disclaimed—“very rough, I’m afraid. But you can’t do very good work when your pocket-knife is your only tool. I hope you’ll forgive its shortcomings, Miss Norah, and keep it to remember the old Hermit.”