I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under control. I had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost steerage way. My slight experience with the vagaries of the feminine mind had not prepared me for the lightning changes of this kind. Not two minutes before she had, if one might judge by her look and tone, been deeply offended, almost insulted, because I refused to permit her wandering off alone into the woods. My invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment and with no idea that it would be accepted. And she not only accepted, but had expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might not do so. She told me so, herself. “Shall I unpack the basket?” she repeated. She was looking at me intently and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves. “What is the matter? Are you sorry I am going to stay?” It was high time for me to get under way. There were squalls on the horizon. “Oh, no, no!” I exclaimed, hastily. “Of course not. I am delighted. But you need not trouble to help. Just let me attend to your horse and I will have lunch ready in a jiffy.” I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees and the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to a stout birch. He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of the rich grass. He, too, was evidently glad to accept my invitation. When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked and the young lady arranging the eatables. “You shouldn't have done that,” I said. “I am the host here.” She did not look up. “Don't bother the table maid,” she observed, briskly. “That fire is not kindled yet.” I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the fish, a bass and a pickerel. I carried them down to the shore of the pond and began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat stone. I was nearing the end of the operation when she came over to watch. “Why are you doing that?” she asked. “You are not going to cook them--now--are you?” “I am going to try,” I replied. “But how? You haven't anything to cook them in.” “I don't need it. You don't appreciate the conveniences of this hotel, Miss Colton. There! now we're ready.” I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat stones, large ones, which I had previously put aside. These I carried to the fire and, raking aside the burning logs with a stick, laid the stones in a bed of hot coals. “Those are our frying pans,” I informed her. “When they are hot enough they will cook the fish. At least, I hope they will. Now for the coffee.” But she waved me aside. “The coffee is my affair,” she said. “I insist upon making the coffee. Oh, you need not look at me like that. I am not altogether useless. I studied Domestic Science--a little--in my prep school course. As much as I studied anything else,” laughingly. “But--”