Soon after sunrise Miss Leslie was awakened by the snap and dull crash of a falling tree. She made a hasty toilet, and ran out around the baobab. The burned tree, eaten half through by the fire, had been pushed over against the cliff by Blake and Winthrope. Both had already climbed up, and now stood on the edge of the cliff.
“Hello, Miss Jenny!” shouted Blake. “We’ve got here at last. Want to come up?”
“Not now, thank you.”
“It’s easy enough. But you’re right. Try your hand again at the cutlets, won’t you? While they’re frying, we’ll get some eggs for dessert How does that strike you?”
“We have no way to cook them.”
“Roast ’em in the ashes. So long!”
Miss Leslie cooked breakfast over the watch-fire, for the other had been scattered and stamped out by the men when the tree fell. They came back in good time, walking carefully, that they might not break the eggs with which their pockets bulged. Between them, they had brought a round dozen and a half. Blake promptly began stowing all in the hot ashes, while Winthrope related their little adventure with unwonted enthusiasm.
“You should have come with us, Miss Genevieve,” he began. “This time of day it is glorious on the cliff top. Though the rock is bare, there is a fine view–”
“Fine view of grub near the end,” interpolated Blake.
“Ah, yes; the birds–you must take a look at them, Miss Genevieve! The sea end of the cliff is alive with them–hundreds and thousands, all huddled together and fighting for room. They are a sight, I assure you! They’re plucky, too. It was well we took sticks with us. As it was, one of the gannets–boobies, Blake calls them–caught me a nasty nip when I went to lift her off the nest.”