"You see," said Cologne, "Mother did not want us to be working always,
so she made the table service a la Indian. We burn most of the dishes
when we've used them, and they keep our camp fire going, or rather,
they only start it. Then the metal plates are so easy to wash, and so
hard to break. Oh, we have camping down to a system! I hope you will
like the system."

"How could I help liking it! Why it's just ideal. It makes our
pretentious homes look like cheap bric-a-brac," Dorothy declared.

"Well, come now and have tea--we are to have it alone, you and I, for
mother is busy helping Jennie can berries, and Jack is never home
until the cows come--we can see herds of them troup over that hill
every night."

Cologne put a match to the small oil stove, and then when the kettle
boiled she made tea in the proper way, pouring the water over the
leaves as they nestled in the blue Delft pot on the table. The edibles
were produced from an improvised cupboard, and in a remarkably short
time Dorothy and her friend were seated at the long table, enjoying a
meal, the like of which the visitor declared she had never before
fallen heir to.

"It must be the air," she remarked, helping herself to a sandwich,
"for I have never felt so alarmingly hungry."

"Jack says they are 'standwiches,'" remarked Cologne, "for he never
gets a chance to eat one while sitting down."