"But what have you been doing all this time?" he asked.
"We slept a good deal ourselves," she replied. "Fogger and Joan wrote their report, and of course we talked and talked. Fogger's gone in to-day to see lots of officials who have come down, and the spies are in prison."
"I don't know yet what happened to you," Garth said. "And when may I get up?"
"I'll tell you our adventures now," she said; "and this afternoon, if you're really rested, I think you may get up for a while. Because we must have just a tiny celebration. There are so many things to celebrate—your birthday, beloved one, and the transport's being saved, and Fogger's getting into the Navy, and—and all of us being together—safe."
There was a curious quality of solemn elation about the birthday party. The bandaged foreheads of two of its members made it seem quite strange—"like an entertainment for convalescent officers, or something!" Jim said. The feast had concluded with peach ice-cream, almost unknown at the lighthouse.
"It's even better than the battleship kind," Garth said.
