So Steve yawned, and lolled in his blanket, until finally Jack told him he might as well get busy if they expected to have a feast of camp biscuits for lunch. It was no easy task which Steve had set himself. First of all he insisted on going out and fetching the rude table inside the tent, even if it did crowd them a trifle. "However could you expect a _chef_ to make biscuits, with never a table to work at?" he threw at Toby when the latter ventured to complain; and of course after that they allowed Steve to have his own way, though Toby hung around to quiz him, until the other ordered him off. "You'll queer these delicacies if you bother me any more, Toby," he told him severely. "Our cook says you ought almost to hold your breath when making them, because it's always easy for them to drop. Mebbe she was joshing me, but I don't want to be bothered and forget to put the baking powder or the salt in." Toby kept a roaring fire going, and finally the pan of biscuits was popped into the oven. Steve looked a bit anxious, realizing that his reputation as a cook was now at stake. "Since we've got this table inside here," spoke up Jack, "we might as well make all the use of it we can, chucking it out again in the rain when supper is over. Here's a box one can sit on, and we'll rig up seats for the others somehow." "Hurrah!" cried Steve, on hearing this. "That gives my legs a chance to keep out of snarls. I never could curl up like some fellows. But I wonder how they're coming on inside the oven?" "What, your legs?" exclaimed Toby, jeeringly; "why, I didn't know we were going to be treated to roast _mutton_ today, did you, Jack?" Steve took a peep. "Believe me, they're beginning to turn a light brown already; and say, they look as light as any Mary Ann ever made at our house," was his joyous announcement. He seemed to act as though the fate of nations depended on the successful issue of his first camp baking. Indeed, Toby was secretly almost as much concerned as Steve, for he dearly loved hot biscuits, and counted himself a pretty good judge of them. To dismiss the subject, it may be said that Steve's experiment turned out to be a success. Jack congratulated him on making such dainty biscuits; while Toby declared that the proof of the pudding lay in the eating; and the fact that he was making such desperate inroads on the stack that graced the dish in the center of the table showed his appreciation. So Steve was made very happy, and readily promised that there would be no lack of fresh bread while the stock of flour held out, and that dandy little stove was in working order. The afternoon proved terribly long to all of them. Sometimes they would take turns at dozing, for the patter of the rain among the leaves, and on the canvas above their heads, made a sort of lullaby that induced sleep. Several times the rain would die out for a short time, only to make a fresh start again after exciting false hopes.