Now he had no scruples against a bit of dirt, and had already crammed his mouth full of the broken food, when Cleena looked round and saw him. His mouth was distended with laughter as well as bread, and this provoked her still further. Sweeping her long arm over the table, she brushed all the sandwiches into a big pan that stood conveniently near, and remarked grimly:-- "Not another bite o' better food do you get till them's all ate." "All right. I like 'em. But what's the picnickers goin' to do?" "The best they can. An' you're to help. Go wash your hands." "I have." "Again, once more; then show 'em to me." The lad laughingly obeyed. Then demanded:-- "What for?" Cleena replied by action rather than word. She tied a fresh gingham apron about his shoulders and brought the strings around in front so that his mud-stained clothing was entirely covered. Then she led him to her kneading-table and set a bucket of sifted flour before him. "Make biscuit." "How many?" "Three hundred. Fall to, measure, I'll count." She did. For two whole hours the pair labored in that kitchen, Fayette kneading, cutting out, slipping the pans into the ovens and removing them; while Cleena spread and cut tongue after tongue, till even more than the original supply had been reproduced. Then she paused and looked up. There stood Teamster John in the doorway, smiling and watching Fayette's new occupation with genuine surprise. "Shucks! makin' a cook out of him? Ain't ye rather late with your luncheon? I drove up to carry the baskets down to the 'Island.'" "Humph! Ready they was, fast enough. But--man, look here," and she opened the cupboard door to draw forth the apron of gold. "No, you shan't! He shan't touch it! It's mine--it's mine!" cried Fayette, and snatched the bundle from her hands. He had not tied it securely, and again the long-buried coins rolled into the sunlight and spread themselves over the floor. "To the--land's--sake!" "They're mine--they're all mine--every single one. I found 'em. I blasted 'em out. Nobody shall touch them--nobody!" "You--blasted them--out? From the cellar of this house? You--simpleton!" "Like to ha' done it yourself, hey?" "No; but I'm sorrier than I can tell that ever you were let to fool with powder. How'd Mister Frederic allow it?" Cleena answered promptly, "He didn't. He strict forbid it. Yes, I know, I know. It was a chance. If me guardian angel hadn't been nigh, you might never ha' seen old Cleena again. Arrah musha, but I'm that shook up I'd know! What say? Is it time yet for their supper down yon, or what?" "It'll be a little late, maybe, but never mind. My, my! Chests o' gold! Who'd believe it? Like a story book, now, ain't it? And where, in the name of common sense, did you get all this flour and meat an' fixings, Cleena, woman?"