PREPARING THE GREAT FEAST.
The hen did not appear to be revengeful at having been so suddenly deprived of life, for in a short time her rather lean body began to turn brown, and a most delicious odor arose on the air, even if she was thickly crusted with ashes.
As Tim turned her carefully, he thought with surprise that he was a really good cook, and blamed himself for having been so distrustful of his own ability.
Thus matters went on, successfully but slowly, until some of the boys showed such plain signs of impatience that Tim thought it necessary to display more evidences of the dinner, even though the hen was far from being roasted.
He and Bobby selected from the cooked provisions enough in the way of pies and cake to make twice as large a party feel very uncomfortable. They spread this feast at one side of the fire, where it would be out of the way of the smoke, and Tim was trying to calculate how it would be possible to cut an apple pie in eleven pieces, and have them all of equal size, when a sound as of water thrown on fire, accompanied by a cry of dismay from Bill Thompson, caused him to start violently.
The sight that met his startled gaze was a sad one, and it did not seem any less so to him than it did to all the others of that hungry party.
The kettle of potatoes had been hung to the pole by a rope, which had burned slowly, until it broke, letting the potatoes, water, and kettle into the fire, deluging the half-roasted hen, and basting it with cinders, until it looked like a huge ball of mud.
The steam and smoke were so dense that it was impossible to attempt any rescue. All that could be done was to wait a few moments, and Tim spent that time dancing around the ruins like a crazy Indian.
It was a horror-stricken party that stood around the drowned fire, watching the cooks as they fished up first the muddy hen, and then the potatoes, all looking very sorry for their plunge into the ashes.