Unstrapping his blankets he spread one and rolled the other up as a pillow.
"Now please lie down on this, Miss Daleham," he said. "A rest will do you
good, too. I am going to turn cook and show you how we fare in the jungle."
The girl took off her hat and was only too glad to stretch herself on the
pad, which made a comfortable couch, for the emotions of the day had worn
her out. She watched Dermot as he moved about absorbed in his task. From
one pocket of the pad he took out a shallow aluminium dish and a small,
round, convex iron plate. From another he drew a linen bag and a tin
canister.
"You said that you would like tea, Miss Daleham," he remarked. "Well, you
shall have some presently."
"Yes; but how can you make it?" she asked. "There's no water in the
jungle."
"Plenty of it."
"Are we near a stream, then?"
"No; the water is all round us, waiting for me to draw it off."
The girl looked about her.
"What do you mean? I don't see any. Where is the water?"
"Hanging from the trees," he replied, laughing. "I'll admit you into one of
the secrets of the jungle. But first I want a fire."
He gathered dried grass and sticks, cleared a space of earth and built
three fires, two on the ground with a large lump of hard clay on either
side of each, the third in a hole that he scraped out.
"To be consistent I ought to produce fire by rubbing two pieces of dried
wood together, as they do in books of adventure," he said, turning to the
interested girl.
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