He had forgotten nothing. From a basket he produced cups, saucers,
plates, knives, and arranged them on his improvised table.

Chris surveyed the cake with frank satisfaction. "What a mercy the gulls
didn't seize it while your back was turned! Do cut it, quick!"

"No, no! You will perform that ceremony," smiled Bertrand.

"Shall I? Oh, very well. I expect I shall do it very badly. What lovely
sweets! Did they come out of the Magic Cave? I hope they won't vanish
before we come to eat them."

"I thought that my bird of Paradise would like them," he said softly.

"Your bird of Paradise loves them," promptly returned Chris. "In fact, if
you ask me, I think she is inclined to be rather greedy. Please take the
kettle off. It's spluttering. You must make the tea if I'm to cut the
cake. And let's be quick, shall we? I believe it's going to rain!"

They were not very quick, however, for, as Chris herself presently
remarked, one couldn't scramble over such a cake as that. And the rain
came down in a sharp shower before they had finished, and drove them into
the Magic Cave for shelter.

The girl's young laughter echoed weirdly along the rocky walls as she
entered, and she turned with a slightly startled expression to make sure
that her companion was close to her.

He had paused to rescue the remains of the feast. "Quick!" she called to