"We'll be in Hendersonville in an hour. Can you cook?"

Ralph staggered to the stove, and took a puzzled look.

"I've cooked on a fireplace all my life, more or less. But I don't
think much of that thing."

"Don't, eh? Well, well! You'll do for a dime museum, you will. Go
and sit down, and watch me."

Ralph took a seat near the door, and divided his time between Mr.
Quigg's culinary operations and the swiftly moving panorama outside.

The dizzy, yet smooth, motion of the car, the--to him--miraculous
speed, the whirl and shimmer of the landscape--all this fascinated him
after his first nervousness wore off.

The artist, however, recalled him from this sort of day dreaming, by
saying:

"Ever make biscuit?"

"We eat corn pones mostly at home."

"Well, you can fry some bacon and eggs, I guess."

He gave the boy a small frying pan, showed him where to place it, then
lighted his lamp.

"That beats pine knots, don't it?" he asked, while Ralph noted with a