The meal in the open was most delightful; especially to Bob, after his long course of lumber-camp provender.  The deep shadows shifted slowly across the forest floor.  Sparkles of sunlight from unexpected quarters touched gently in turn each of the diners, or glittered back from glass or linen.  Occasionally a wandering breeze lifted a corner of the tablecloth and let it fall, or scurried erratically across the table itself.  Occasionally, too, a pine needle, a twig, a leaf would zigzag down through the air to fall in some one’s coffee or glass or plate.  Birds flashed across the open vault of this forest room—­brilliant birds, like the Louisiana Tanager; sober little birds like the creepers and nuthatches.  Circumspect and reserved whitecrowns and brush tohees scratched and hopped silently over the forest litter.  Once a swift falcon, glancing like a shadowy death, slanted across the upper spaces.  The food was excellent, and daintily served.

“I am proud of my blue and white enamel-ware,” Miss Thorne told Bob; “it’s so much better than tin or this ugly gray.  And that glass pitcher I got with coupons from the coffee packages.”

“You didn’t get these with coupons?” said Bob, lifting one of the massive silver forks.

“No,” she admitted.  “That is my one foolishness.  All the rest does not matter, but I can’t get along without my silver.”

“And a great nuisance it is to those who have to move as we move,” put in Ashley Thorne.

The forest officers took up their broken conversation.  Bob found himself a silent but willing listener.  He heard discussion of policies, business dealings, plans that widened the horizon of what the Forest had meant to him.  In these discussions the girl took an active and intelligent part.  Her opinion seemed to be accepted seriously by both the men, as one who had knowledge, and indeed, her grasp of details seemed as comprehensive as that of the men themselves.

Finally Thorne pushed his chair back and began to fill his pipe.

“Anybody here to-day?” he asked.

The girl ran over rapidly a half-dozen names, sketching briefly the business they had brought.  Then, one after the other, she told the answers she had made to them.  This one had been given blanks, forms and instructions.  That one had been told clearly that he was in the wrong, and must amend his ways.  The other had been advised but tentatively, and informed that he must see the Supervisor personally.  To each of these Thorne responded by a brief nod, puffing, meanwhile, on his pipe.

“All right?” she asked, when she had finished.

“All right but one,” said he, removing his pipe at last.  “I don’t think it will be advisable to let Francotti have what he wants.”

“Pull the string, then!” cried the girl gaily.

Thorne turned to California John in discussion of the Francotti affair.

“What do you mean by ’pull the string’?” Bob took the occasion to inquire.