Sam woke slowly, but knowing perfectly where he was, and drawled:
"Get up yourself. You're cook to-day, an' I'll take my breakfast in
bed. Seems like my knee is broke out again."
"Oh, get up, and let's have a swim before breakfast."
"No, thank you, I'm too busy just now; 'sides, it's both cold and wet
in that pond, this time o' day."
The morning was fresh and bright; many birds were singing, although it
was July, a Red-eyed Vireo and a Robin were in full song; and as Yan
rose to get the breakfast he wondered why he had been haunted by such
strange feelings the night before. It was incomprehensible now. He
wished that appalling wail in the tree-tops would sound again, so he
might trace it home.
There still were some live coals in the ashes, and in a few minutes he
had a blazing fire, with the pot boiling for coffee, and the bacon in
the fryer singing sweetest music for the hungry.
Sam lay on his back watching his companion and making critical
remarks.
"You may be an A1 cook--at least, I hope you are, but you don't know
much about fire-wood," said he. "Now look at that," as one huge spark
after another exploded from the fire and dropped on the bed and the
teepee cover.
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