“But he made it?” Jack was puzzled.
“I suppose so. I didn’t see him land. He—”
“Look!” Stew’s voice fell to an excited whisper. “There’s a glow of coals in our fireplace!”
“Can’t be!” Jack was incredulous. “I remember putting the fire out.”
“It’s burning now, all right,” Stew insisted.
And so it was. There was a fire, and something more, besides.
When the boys reached the spot they stood gazing in speechless astonishment, for there, held over the fire by an impromptu spit of teakwood, was a roast of pork loin, done to a delicious brown and sizzling in its own fat. Beside it, kept warm on a rack close to the fire, was a stack of brown cakes.
“Brownies,” Jack whispered.
“Dark brownies. Natives,” Stew murmured.
“Brownies, all the same!” Jack insisted.