He added gravely that he believed it was going to clear up, though--unless the wind swung back into the storm quarter.

Bud again professed cheerfully to be in perfect accord.

After which conversational sparring they fell back upon the little commonplaces of the moment.
Bud went into a brush patch and managed to glean an armful of nearly dry wood, which he broke up with the axe and fed to the fire, coaxing it into freer blazing.

The stranger watched him unobtrusively, critically, pottering about while Bud fried the bacon.
"I guess you've handled a frying pan before, all right," he remarked at last, when the bacon was fried without burning.
Bud grinned.

"I saw one in a store window once as I was going by," he parried facetiously.