And in so doing she fell into the way of doing little things about the
house, finding speedily that time flew when she busied herself at some
task in the intervals of delving in Roaring Bill's library.
She could cook--and she did. Her first meal came about by grace of
Roaring Bill's absence. He was hunting, and supper time drew nigh.
She grew hungry, and, on the impulse of the moment, turned herself
loose in the kitchen--largely in a mood for experiment. She had
watched Bill make all manner of things in his Dutch ovens, and observed
how he prepared meat over the glowing coals often enough to get the
hang of it. Wherefore, her first meal was a success. When Roaring
Bill came in, an hour after dark, he found her with cheeks rosy from
leaning over the fire, and a better meal than he could prepare all
waiting for him. He washed and sat down. Hazel discarded her
flour-sack apron and took her place opposite. Bill made no comment
until he had finished and lighted a cigarette.
"You're certainly a jewel, little person," he drawled then. "How many
more accomplishments have you got up your sleeve?"
"Do you consider ordinary cooking an accomplishment?" she returned
lightly.
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