“No. A loaf of bread.” “Oh, bread’s all right. It’ll go capitally with the soup. Frank was clamouring for bread yesterday, weren’t you, Cousin Frank? If there’s any over after the soup we can make it into tipsy cake with the juice of the peaches. That’s the way tipsy cake is made, except for the sherry, which always rather spoils it, I think, on account of the burny taste it gives. That and the whipped cream, which, of course, is rather good though considered to be unwholesome. But you can’t have things like that out boating.” “Come on,” said Miss Rutherford, “we’ll start the Primus stove, and while the water is boiling we’ll eat a few of the peppermint creams as hors d’oeuvres.” Priscilla jumped from the bow of the boat to the shore. “Jimmy Kinsella,” she said, “go and help Mr. Mannix out of the boat. He’s got a sprained ankle and can’t walk. Then you can take our anchor ashore and shove out the boat. She’ll lie off all right if you haul down the jib. Miss Rutherford and I will go and light the Primus stove. I’ve always wanted to see a Primus stove, but I never have except in a Stores List and then, of course, it wasn’t working.” “Come on,” said Miss Rutherford. “I have it all ready in a sheltered nook under the bank at the top of the beach.” She took Priscilla’s hand and began to run across the seaweed towards the grass. Half way up Priscilla stopped abruptly and looked round. Jimmy Kinsella had his arm round Frank and was helping him out of the boat. “Hullo, Jimmy!” said Priscilla. “I’d better come back and give you a hand. You’ll hardly be able to do that job by yourself.” “I will, of course,” said Jimmy. “Why not?” “I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t,” said Priscilla, “on account of the hole in your leg.” “What hole?” “The hole your father’s new heifer made when she drove her horn through your leg,” said Priscilla. “I suppose there is a hole. There must be if the horn went clean through. It can’t have closed up again yet.” “I don’t know,” said Jimmy. “Did ever I meet a young lady as fond of the funning as yourself, Miss. Many’s the time my da did be saying that the like of Miss Priscilla----” “Your da, as you call him,” said Priscilla, “says a deal more than his prayers.” “Do tell me about the hole in Jimmy’s leg,” said Miss Rutherford. “He never mentioned it to me.” “Nor wouldn’t,” said Priscilla, “because it’s like the rats and the spotted fever and the bad smell, or what ever it was he told you. It’s simply not there.” Miss Rutherford lit the methylated spirits in the upper part of the Primus stove. Priscilla pumped up the paraffin with enthusiasm. The water was put on to boil. Then Priscilla asked for the packets of desiccated soup.