They sat down on a mossy slope at last when they reached the top of the hill. It was warm and dry with the sunshine all the morning, and they were glad to rest.
"I wonder what's in that basket," said Barney eying it wistfully. "I'm hungry, aren't you?"
Margaret smiled warmly.
"Wild strawberry tarts for one thing, I think. Mother made some yesterday. And there'll likely be chicken sandwiches. Are you as tired of chicken as everybody is these rationing days?"
"Me? Tired of chicken? Not on your life! We didn't always have all the chicken we could use over there in that hospital where I took my recovery. And I know your mother's chicken sandwiches will be something to boast about. And those dear little sharp pickles I just love. I think they must be peculiar to this part of the world for somehow I don't seem to remember having them anywhere else."
Just little nothings they talked about while they were eating, glad little nothings, that signified that they were happy to be together and having a grand time. And when they finished everything in the basket, and drank the milk from the thermos bottle, they shook out the napkins, and closed the basket and settled down for a good talk.
-- Grace Livingston Hill, Time of the Singing of Birds (1944)