“Siskowit?” she said. “There are no women there. Only men and boys.”
“My brother is there,” said Katie. “He is fighting fire. I shall stay with him. I can fight fire.”
“Why! They won’t let you,” Florence exclaimed. “It’s a boys’ camp!”
“So-o,” the Finnish girl’s face clouded. “But my brother is there,” she insisted. “We are twins.”
“Oh!” Florence had some notion of what it meant to be a twin. She wanted to help this girl. But how?
Seized by a sudden inspiration she demanded, “Can you cook? Can you make pasties?”
“Oh, yes! Very good pasties.”
Pasties! How Florence’s mouth watered. Good little turnover pies all filled with meat, made only as the people of strange little Finland knew how.
Just then Dave came up from below. “Dave,” Florence smiled in spite of herself, “do you think we could use a cook on the Wanderer?”
“We—we might,” Dave seemed a little puzzled. “Come to think of it,” he added after a brief pause, “it would help. Looks to me as if we were stepping into something rather big. May be a day-and-night affair before we’re through. You’re O.K. for a cook but not twenty-four hours a day. And Jeanne, she’s fine, but a bit of a butterfly, don’t you think?”