They soon found a comfortable spot, where they threw themselves down at full length, and at Dick Harris's suggestion pitched into the eatables which Mrs. Brown had put up for them.
After a while Ned exclaimed: "Look here, boys, you can't spend the whole afternoon eating. Just clap two or three doughnuts into your pockets, and come along. We've got to get ready for the night."
"Wait a week," said Dick, "until I take one more drink of coffee; then we'll go and explore the country."
"Can't you remember, Ned, where you generally pitch your tent?" said Arthur.
"Tom Matthews pretty much always bosses that business," answered Ned.
"I guess we can find as good a place as Tom Matthews," said Phil. "There it is now, right ahead—don't you see?—down in that hollow under that tall tree."
"All right; let's make for it, then," said Ned. "We haven't any time to lose."
Some hours later Ned called out: "Now that everything is ready for the night, you shall have a high old supper. You needn't any of you put your fingers in the pie either. I'm goin' to make a regular lumberman's pudding. Dick, just hand me that tin plate, will you?"
"No, sir, I can't even do that; it might be putting the very finger into the pie, or rather pudding, which would spoil the whole. I am not going to run any such risk."
"That's too thin—a capital excuse for laziness—but I can do it myself fortunately. First, you see, I cut a slit in this stick, and slip the edge of the plate into it, and that makes a tip-top spider. Next I put in some pieces of fat pork, and am goin' to fry them over this blazin' fire. When the pork is done, I'll take that out, and crumb this pilot-bread into the fat."