leaned it against the stick with the bottom exposed to the fire, and
proceeded to bake a second loaf.

"Let me have the dough that's left," Jamie begged.

"Aye, take un if you likes," David consented. "There'll be too little
for another loaf, whatever."

Jamie secured a dry stick three or four feet long and about two inches
in diameter. This he scraped clean of bark, and pulling the dough into
a rope as thick as his finger wound it in a spiral upon the centre of
the stick. Then he flattened the dough until it was not above a
quarter of an inch in thickness.

On the opposite side of the fire from David, that he might not
interfere with David's cooking, he arranged two stones near enough
together for an end of the stick to rest on each. Here he placed it
with the dough in the centre exposed to the heat. As the dough on the
side of the stick near the fire browned he turned the stick a little
to expose a new surface, until his twist was brown on all sides.

"Have some of un," Jamie invited. "We'll eat un to stave off the
hunger before dinner. I'm fair starved."

David and Andy were not slow to accept, and Jamie's crisp hot twist
was quickly devoured.

The kettle of stewing goose was sending forth a most delicious
appetizing odour. David lifted the lid to season it, and stir it with
the cooking spoon. Jamie and Andy sniffed.