She shook her hair from her eyes and smiled across
at Bennington.
"Ready! Go!" cried she.
The frying pan was covered with a tin plate on which were heaped live
coals. More coals were poked from between the logs on to a flat place,
were spread out thin, and were crowned by the frying pan and its
glowing freight. Bennington held over the fire a switch of ham in each
hand, taking care, according to directions, not to approach the actual
blaze. Mary borrowed his hunting knife and disappeared into the
thicket. In a moment she returned with a kettle-lifter, improvised very
simply from a forked branch of a sapling. One of the forks was left
long for the hand, the other was cut short. The result was like an
Esquimaux fishhook. She then relieved Bennington of his task, while
that young man lifted the kettle from the fire and carefully drained
away the water.
"Dinner!" she called gaily.
Bennington looked up surprised. He had been so absorbed in the spells
wrought by this dainty woods fairy that he had forgotten the flight of
time. It was enough for him to watch the turn of her wrist, the swift
certainty of her movements, to catch the glow lit in her face by the
fire over which she bent.
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