He took out a box and lit the fires.

“Now,” he said, “if you’ll see to these for me, I’ll go and get the kettle and crockery.”

At the far end of the glade was a clump of bamboos.  Dermot selected the biggest stem and hacked it down with his kukri.  From the thicker end he cut off a length from immediately below a knot to about a foot above it, trimmed the edges and brought it to Noreen.  It made a beautifully clean and polished pot, pale green outside, white within.

“There is your kettle and tea-pot,” he said.

From a thinner part he cut off similarly two smaller vessels to serve as cups.

“Now then for the water to fill the kettle,” he said, looking around among the creepers festooning the trees for the pani bel.  When he found the plant he sought, he cut off a length and brought it to the girl, who had never heard of it.  Asking her to hold the bamboo pot he filled it with water from the creeper, much to her astonishment.

“How wonderful!” she cried.  “Is it really good to drink?”

“Perfectly.”

“But how are you going to boil it?”

“In that bamboo pot.”

“But surely that will burn?”

“No, the water will boil long before the green wood begins to be charred,” replied Dermot, placing the pot over the first fire on the two lumps of clay, so that the flames could reach it.

Then he opened the linen bag, which Noreen found to contain atta, or native flour.  Some of this he poured into the round aluminium dish and with water from the pani bel he mixed dough, rolled it into balls, and patted them into small flat cakes.  Over the second fire he placed the iron plate, convex side up, and when it grew hot put the cakes on it.

“How clever of you!  You are making chupatis like the natives do,” exclaimed Noreen.  “I love them.  I get the cook to give them to us for tea often.”

She watched him with interest and amusement, as he turned the cakes over with a dexterous flip when one side browned; then, when they were done, he took them off and piled them on a large leaf.

“Who would ever imagine that you could cook?” Noreen said, laughing.  “Do let me help.  I feel so lazy.”

“Very well.  Look after the chupatis while I get the fowl ready,” he replied.

He cleaned the jungle cock, wrapped it up in a coating of wet clay and laid it in the hot ashes of the third fire, covering it over with the red embers.

Just as he had finished the girl cried:  “The water is actually boiling?  Who would have believed it possible?”

“Now we are going to have billy tea as they make it in the bush in Australia,” said Dermot, opening the canister and dropping tea from it into the boiling water.

Noreen gathered up a pile of well-toasted chupatis and turned a smiling, dimpled face to him.

“This is the jolliest picnic I’ve ever had,” she cried.  “It was worth being carried off by those wretches to have all these delightful surprises.  Now, tea is ready, sir.  Please may I pour it out?”