“Not a thing. These potatoes will want a half-hour at least, I guess. Meanwhile we might as well take it easy.” He found a niche in the rocks and settled himself into it with a sigh of content. The others followed his example. Now and then Malcolm arose and added more fuel to the fire, at the bottom of which, in a bed of glowing gray ashes, the potatoes were hidden. They talked desultorily. It was very comfortable lying there and watching the fire. Now that the wind had died down it was quite warm, although there was a perceptible dampness in the air. At the end of a half-hour Malcolm bestirred himself. Taking a stick and shielding his face with his cap he poked around in the ashes until he had brought to view one of the potatoes. He coaxed it away from the fire and then broke it open. “How is it?” asked Rob lazily. “Pretty nearly done,” was the answer. “I’ll start the steak, I guess.” He raked some live coals to the edge of the fire, placed one of the slices of steak in the pan, sprinkled it with salt and pepper and placed the pan on the coals. Then he drew more coals around it and set about sharpening a two-foot stick. “What’s that for?” asked Evan. “To turn the meat with,” was the reply. “Think I want to singe my hair off?” “Isn’t he the haughty chef?” murmured Rob. “Seems to me it’s about time Jelly was getting back.” Evan arose and walked to the edge of the rock. “See him?” asked Malcolm. “N――no, but it’s so foggy that I can’t even see the trees,” Evan replied. “Yes, I do, though. Here he comes. Hello, Jelly!” “Hello!” “Did you get it?” “Yep. Would you mind coming down and getting it, please? I don’t believe I’ll ever climb up the rock without spilling it.” “All right.” Evan scrambled down and met Jelly at the foot of the ledge and relieved him of his burden. “You wouldn’t think a quart of water could be so heavy,” panted Jelly. “You see, you have to hold it like this or it runs out the spout. That makes it awkward, doesn’t it?” “Decidedly,” answered Evan. “I don’t know whether I can get it up there myself without losing most of it.” But he did finally, and a minute or two later the coffee was “on the stove.” Jelly was pretty well fagged out and they made him lie down and rest. From the frying-pan came a heartening sizzle and, now and then, a fragrant whiff. “May I cook my chops next?” asked Jelly. “You may not,” Malcolm replied. “You just lie there on your silly back. I’ll cook them for you. You can start in on the steak, though, while they’re frying. Wonder if those potatoes are ready to come out.” “Well, if I’d been in there as long as they have,” said Evan, “I’m sure I’d be ready to come out! Want me to help you?” “Yes, will you? Get a long stick and poke around for them. But don’t get too near the coffee-pot, whatever you do!”