I've got more important work to do--I'm going to make the fire."

"What fire?"

"You can't really lead the simple life and feel at home with Nature
until you have laid a fire of twigs and branches, rubbed two sticks
together to procure a flame, and placed in the ashes the pemmican or
whatever it is that falls to your rifle."

"Well, I did go out to look for pemmican this morning, but there
were none rising."

"Then I shall have my ham sandwich hot."

"Bread, butter, cheese, eggs, sandwiches, fruit," catalogued Dahlia,
as she took them out; "what else do you want?"

"I'm waiting here for cake," I said.

"Bother, I forgot the cake."

"Look here, this picnic isn't going with the swing that one had
looked for. No pemmican, no cake, no early Norman church. We might
almost as well be back in the Cromwell Road."

"Does your whole happiness depend on cake?" asked Myra scornfully.

"To a large extent it does. Archie," I called out, "there's no
cake."