“Oh, lambie, we don’t want a pan,” protested Aunt Bessie. “See these nice, clean sticks I’ve saved? Well, we put a marshmallow on the end, so—and hold it out to the blaze, so—and then when it begins to brown we eat it—so!” and Aunt Bessie held out a delicious, creamy brown marshmallow to the interested Sunny Boy.
“Now let me try,” said Sunny Boy. “And the first one shall be for Aunt Bessie, ’cause it’s her party.”
Sunny Boy put his marshmallow carefully on the pointed end of the stick, then held it out over the fire. But poor Sunny Boy held the candy too near the glowing coals, and it was burnt to a crisp.
“Oh!”
“Never mind, Sunny Boy,” said Mother. “The next one will be all right. We don’t often get anything just right the first time.”
And the next one was plump and brown, and Aunt Bessie said it tasted delicious.
“Where do you suppose Queen is?” asked Sunny Boy, toasting a particularly fat marshmallow for his mother. “Maybe the fire scares her.”
“No, I’ll tell you,” said Miss Martinson, pulling Sunny Boy back a little from the fire. “I think Queen must have gone home with some of the children to spend the night. She’s getting old, you know, and I dare say the sand feels damp to her after the sun goes down.”
Whatever the reason, no Queen was seen by Sunny Boy that night. He saved two candies for the dog in case she did come, but at last he had to eat them himself.
They toasted marshmallows till all declared that not another one could they eat, and then they covered the fire with sand. Not for worlds would Sunny Boy have said a word about being sleepy, but he had yawned several times when he thought no one saw him, and he was secretly glad when Mother announced that they must go home.