CUPID EN ROUTE
"No, I'm as warm as toast. Speaking of toast, why not have some? Couldn't we toast the bread at the fire?"
"Of course! Give it to me and let me do it. Is there a fork?"
"Two; good old fashioned forks with three tines and beautiful bone handles. Here you are. Let me open that door for you. I'll put the coffee on top here to keep hot. There aren't any napkins, I'm sorry to say,"
"Who wants them?" she asked merrily. "You can't eat napkins."
Five minutes later they were feasting happily. The box, inverted on the bench between them, made an acceptable if insecure table. The coffee, sipped from clumsy stoneware cups and stirred with tin spoons, was a new experience to them both, but Wade secretly thought that it came nearer to being nectar than anything he had ever tasted. The toast was a huge success, and the venison—
"I'll bet this deer was no spring chicken,"
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