out in one of the armchairs.”
“Fine. Dinner will be ready in no time.”
While her father relaxed in the chair, Carole hurried into the woods, gathering the sticks and other tinder she would need to start a fire. She found a dead pine log that was exactly the right size, and in a few minutes she had a cozy campfire going about ten feet from the front of their tent.
“I don’t know what you’re cooking, but it smells great,” her father called with his eyes closed.
“I haven’t cooked anything yet, Dad. That’s just the wood burning.” Carole smiled. Solar cookstoves might be handy, but nothing beat the smell of a real campfire.
She went back into the woods to search for some twigs to roast the hot dogs on. The sticks had to be cut from live bushes, since dead ones would burn up right along with the food. She found a huge forsythia bush and cut four long branches, then peeled the bark back to reveal the milky white layer underneath.
“Perfect,” she said aloud. “These will be the best hot dogs Dad ever ate!”
She carried the sticks back to their camp, then loaded two of them with hot dogs and the other twowith buns. She placed them just the right distance away from the fire and sat down to watch them cook. Soon her mouth began to water as the smell of grilling hot dogs filled the air. Her favorite outdoor meal was almost done. Suddenly she jumped up. She hadn’t gotten anything else together for dinner. She hurried back over and began to set the table as fast as she could. She set out the paper plates, poured a serving of potato chips onto each one, and poured fruit juice into two glasses. What else? She looked at the table. Mustard! Everyone needed mustard with their hot dogs. She ran and opened the solar refrigerator. The mustard was there somewhere—she’d seen it that morning when she was searching for the butter. There, far on the back shelf. Just as she was reaching for it, she smelled an odd, awful smell.
Oh no!
she thought.
The hot dogs are burning!
She raced back to the fire, where orange flames were licking around the green sticks. The hot dogs had been singed to dark brown, and the buns were just pieces of long toast. She quickly removed all four sticks from the fire, but she wanted to cry. Her wonderful hot dog dinner was ruined.
She carried everything to the table and called her father.
Colonel Hanson had been dozing in his chair, but he rose and came to the table quickly.
“Hey, this looks …”
“Burned,” Carole said miserably. “Somehow I misjudged the fire. When I was looking for the mustard, everything got burned.”
“Oh, hey, it’s just a little extra brown,” Colonel Hanson said, looking at the charred hot dog on his plate. “That’s how I like them, anyway.”
Carole knew that her father was only trying to make her feel better. “Use some of this,” she said, passing him the mustard. “Maybe it will make it taste better.”
Colonel Hanson grinned. “Just like the jam and syrup improved my pancakes?”
“Well, kind of,” Carole admitted with a smile.
“Maybe we’re not such great outdoor cooks, honey,” Colonel Hanson said as he squirted mustard on his hot dog.
“Maybe not,” said Carole.
“On the other hand, maybe if you’d used that solar stove, these hot dogs would have turned out perfect!”
“I don’t know, Dad. So far the solar stove and the collapsible canoe have given us more headaches than anything else!”
“O KAY , S TARLIGHT ,” S TEVIE said with pride. “You are one clean horse.” She backed away from the big bay gelding and looked at him approvingly. His coat sparkled like satin, his mane glistened like silk, and his hooves had been polished to a patent-leather sheen.
“I’ll say,” added Lisa, leaning over the stall door. “How many times have we groomed him today? Four? I know we’ve gone through three complete changes of clothes.”
“Just three times, if you count his shampoo.”
“Stevie, I don’t think
“Fine. Dinner will be ready in no time.”
While her father relaxed in the chair, Carole hurried into the woods, gathering the sticks and other tinder she would need to start a fire. She found a dead pine log that was exactly the right size, and in a few minutes she had a cozy campfire going about ten feet from the front of their tent.
“I don’t know what you’re cooking, but it smells great,” her father called with his eyes closed.
“I haven’t cooked anything yet, Dad. That’s just the wood burning.” Carole smiled. Solar cookstoves might be handy, but nothing beat the smell of a real campfire.
She went back into the woods to search for some twigs to roast the hot dogs on. The sticks had to be cut from live bushes, since dead ones would burn up right along with the food. She found a huge forsythia bush and cut four long branches, then peeled the bark back to reveal the milky white layer underneath.
“Perfect,” she said aloud. “These will be the best hot dogs Dad ever ate!”
She carried the sticks back to their camp, then loaded two of them with hot dogs and the other twowith buns. She placed them just the right distance away from the fire and sat down to watch them cook. Soon her mouth began to water as the smell of grilling hot dogs filled the air. Her favorite outdoor meal was almost done. Suddenly she jumped up. She hadn’t gotten anything else together for dinner. She hurried back over and began to set the table as fast as she could. She set out the paper plates, poured a serving of potato chips onto each one, and poured fruit juice into two glasses. What else? She looked at the table. Mustard! Everyone needed mustard with their hot dogs. She ran and opened the solar refrigerator. The mustard was there somewhere—she’d seen it that morning when she was searching for the butter. There, far on the back shelf. Just as she was reaching for it, she smelled an odd, awful smell.
Oh no!
she thought.
The hot dogs are burning!
She raced back to the fire, where orange flames were licking around the green sticks. The hot dogs had been singed to dark brown, and the buns were just pieces of long toast. She quickly removed all four sticks from the fire, but she wanted to cry. Her wonderful hot dog dinner was ruined.
She carried everything to the table and called her father.
Colonel Hanson had been dozing in his chair, but he rose and came to the table quickly.
“Hey, this looks …”
“Burned,” Carole said miserably. “Somehow I misjudged the fire. When I was looking for the mustard, everything got burned.”
“Oh, hey, it’s just a little extra brown,” Colonel Hanson said, looking at the charred hot dog on his plate. “That’s how I like them, anyway.”
Carole knew that her father was only trying to make her feel better. “Use some of this,” she said, passing him the mustard. “Maybe it will make it taste better.”
Colonel Hanson grinned. “Just like the jam and syrup improved my pancakes?”
“Well, kind of,” Carole admitted with a smile.
“Maybe we’re not such great outdoor cooks, honey,” Colonel Hanson said as he squirted mustard on his hot dog.
“Maybe not,” said Carole.
“On the other hand, maybe if you’d used that solar stove, these hot dogs would have turned out perfect!”
“I don’t know, Dad. So far the solar stove and the collapsible canoe have given us more headaches than anything else!”
“O KAY , S TARLIGHT ,” S TEVIE said with pride. “You are one clean horse.” She backed away from the big bay gelding and looked at him approvingly. His coat sparkled like satin, his mane glistened like silk, and his hooves had been polished to a patent-leather sheen.
“I’ll say,” added Lisa, leaning over the stall door. “How many times have we groomed him today? Four? I know we’ve gone through three complete changes of clothes.”
“Just three times, if you count his shampoo.”
“Stevie, I don’t think
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