Judy opened her eyes.
"Oh—is that you?" she asked.
"Yes. Don't you want to come and help me cook?" He was smiling down at her pleasantly.
"I hate cooking." Judy's voice was cold. She hoped he would go away.
Launcelot leaned against a tree to discuss the question.
"Oh," he said. "I don't hate it. It's rather a fine art, you know."
"Anybody can cook," murmured Judy with decision.
"H-m. Can you, little girl?"
Judy sat up at that. "I'm fourteen," she flashed.
Launcelot laughed, such a contagious laugh, that in spite of herself
Judy felt the corners of her lips twitch.