"You like it, Sally?" he asked, taking a position where the moonlight did
not illumine his face.

"Like it!" she exclaimed. "Jo says we're to stay if you are willing--live
in this tent, and have the others out, and Mary Ann Flinders! We won't
need Mary Ann long. I'll be strong enough myself to cook in another week.
Oh, wasn't it dear and kind of these people to plan this for us?"

What could he do or say against it all without seeming a churl and an
ingrate? But before he could formulate the inwardly grudging yet
outwardly appreciative reply he felt forced to make, Jarvis himself had
interposed with a flow of lively talk, explaining to Sally various
details of arrangement, and sparing Max the necessity of making any
insincere speeches. And the next thing that happened was the setting
forth by Josephine, on the table in the tent's outer room, of a light but
tempting supper, brought from home in a hamper--the product of no Mary
Ann Flinders, but of the Burnside cook.

"Mm--mm!" The soft but eloquent sound came from Sally's closed lips when
she had taken her first taste of a sandwich of unknown but delicious
compound. "Was ever anything so good? Max, boy, please try one, quick!
What is this perfect drink, Joey?--how it does go to the spot! Oh, if you
are all half as happy as Sally Lunn, you don't know how to express it!"

"We're even happier," said Josephine, laughing softly, "for it seems at
last as if we have Sally Lunn back."

Jarvis had hard work to keep his own pleasure properly subdued. He sat
just across the table from Max, and the light from two candles shone
revealingly into his satisfied face. He put on his goggles to screen his