Glory! No beds, no blankets! There'll
_have_ to be wood, if the orchard primeval is sacrificed!" And he went,
whistling blithely.
"This is an adventure," Felicia whispered dramatically to Kirk. "We've
never had a real one before; have we?"
"Oh, it's nice!" Kirk cried suddenly. "It's low and still, and--the
house wants us, Phil!"
"The house wants us," murmured Felicia. "I believe that's going to help
me."
It was quite the queerest supper that the three had ever cooked or
eaten. Perhaps "cooked" is not exactly the right word for what happened
to the can of peas and the can of baked beans. Ken did find wood--not in
the woodshed, but strewing the orchard grass; hard old apple-wood, gray
and tough. It burned merrily enough in the living-room fireplace, and
the chimney responded with a hollow rushing as the hot air poured into
it.
"It makes it seem as if there were something alive here besides us,
anyway," Felicia said.
They were all sitting on the hearth, warming their fingers, and when the
apple-wood fire burned down to coals that now and again spurted
short-lived flame, they set the can of peas and the can of baked beans
among the embers. They turned them gingerly from time to time with two
sticks, and laughed a great deal. The laughter echoed about in the empty
stillness of the house.
Ken's knife was of the massive and useful sort that contains a whole
array of formidable tools. These included a can-opener, which now did
duty on the smoked tins.
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