She watched it, only half conscious, in her utter
weariness, and seeing dimly the hollow-eyed face of the man who
stopped above the blaze. Now it grew quickly, and increased to a
sharp-pointed pyramid of red flame. The bright sparks showered up,
crackling and snapping, and when she followed their flight she saw the
darkly nodding tops of the evergreens above her. With the fire well
under way, he took the coffeepot to get water from the river, and left
her to fry the bacon. The fumes of the frying meat wakened her at
once, and brushed even the thought of her exhaustion from her mind.
She was hungry--ravenously hungry.
So she tended the bacon slices with care until they grew brown and
crisped and curled at the edges. After that she removed the pan from
the fire, and it was not until then that she began to wonder why
Wilbur was so long in returning with the water. The bacon grew cold;
she heated it again and was mightily tempted to taste one piece of it,
but restrained herself to wait for Dick.
Still he did not come.
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