On the other was the brook, flowing noisily in the
shade of saplings and of ferns.
Bennington unsaddled the horses and led them over to the grass-plot,
where he picketed them securely in such a manner that they could not
become entangled. When he returned to the brookside he found that Mary
had undone her bundle and spread out its contents. There were various
utensils, some corn meal, coffee, two slices of ham, raw potatoes, a
small bottle of milk, some eggs wonderfully preserved by moss inside
the pail, and some bread and cake. Bennington eyed all this in dismay.
She caught his look and laughed.
"Can't you cook? Well, I can; you just obey orders."
"We won't get anything to eat before night," objected Bennington
dolefully as he looked over the decidedly raw material.
"And he's _so_ hungry!" she teased. "Never mind, you build a fire."
Bennington brightened. He had one outdoor knack--that of lighting
matches in a wind and inducing refractory wood to burn. His skill had
often been called into requisition in the igniting of beach fires, and
the so-called "camp fires" of girls. He collected dry twigs from the
sunny places, cut slivers with his knife, built over the whole a
wigwam-shaped pyramid of heavier twigs, against which he leaned his
firewood.
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