Jim constructed a fire on the sand, with a shield of piled stones to windward, and presently the flames were licking gaily.
"Here are heaps of sandwiches," said Elspeth, exploring the basket. “Where's the bacon?"
"They will in truth be sandwiches," Jim observed, "if Garth doesn't sit down and put his feet to leeward of the lunch. Throw me that knife, please, somebody."
He sharpened four long toasting-sticks, and very soon every one was frizzling a slice of bacon over the blaze.
"Yours is getting doner than mine, Joan," said Garth. "Oh, goodness, mine's fallen off into the fire! Help! Quick, Fogger!" he cried, prodding at it frantically with his stick. It was recovered, somewhat charred, and Garth blew the ashes from it.
"It's not bad at all," he commented, after a cautious bite; "only a little burnty at one end. Yours is beautiferous, Joan."
"Let's have some bread to eat with this," said Jim. "No, that's cake, Pem. Over there in the bag. What a young sandstorm you are, to be sure!"
They ate everything except a sandwich apiece
