look at the boat in course of an hour, at the furthest.
He lighted the kitchen fire and surveyed that appetizing stock of eatables on which they had made some inroads the night before. Audacity and a notion of a more breakfast-like meal for Gerald inspired him. He found the coffee in a caddy, and descended into the cellar to plunder its stores a little. Then, arrayed in a violently green calico apron that hung behind the entry door, he proceeded to find out if he could not concoct as decent a breakfast in a farm-house that didn't belong to him as in a forest camp that did. Mr. Marcy had often declared, "Phil, you're a born cook! When the chef of the Ossokosee strikes for higher wages, you'd better apply to me." So he beat an omelet vigorously and then went to call Gerald.
"H-m-m?—y-e-s—what's—what's the matter?" asked the boy, confusedly, lifting his head from the pillow and uttering a round dozen of sleepy sentences before consciousness came back—a specially slow process with him.
"Breakfast is ready," laughed Touchtone.
