Anne had begun to look very serious. “My Aunt Martha may think that I have run away,” she said, as they sat leaning back against the piles of warm sand.
“No, she won’t,” Amos assured her, “for they’ll find out right off that Amanda and I are gone, and father’s dory, and it won’t take father or Captain Enos long to guess what’s happened; only they’ll think that we have been carried out to sea.”
The little girls were very silent after this, until Amos jumped up saying: “I’ve just thought of a splendid plan. We’ll pile up sand just as high as we can on both sides. Then I’ll take those fish-lines and cut them in pieces long enough to reach across from one sand heap to the other, and tie rocks on each end of the lines and put them across.”
“I don’t think fish-lines will make much of a roof,” said Amanda.
“And after I get the lines across,” went on Amos, not heeding what his sister had said, “we’ll lay these pine boughs across the lines. See? We can have the branches come well over each side and lap one row over another and make a fine roof,” and Amos jumped about, greatly pleased with his own invention.
They all returned to piling up sand and before sunset had made walls taller than their heads, and Amos had put the lines across and the covering of pine boughs, so that it was nicely roofed in.
“It will be a lot better than sleeping under the dory,” said Anne, as they looked proudly at the little shelter, “and there’s pine boughs enough left for beds, too!”
“We can get more to-morrow,” said Amos, “and we’ll have a fire to-morrow if I can only find some punk, and cook those fish.”
“But I want to go home to-morrow,” said Amanda; “I know my mother wants me. We’ve got a boat; can’t you make an oar and row us home, Amos?”
“There isn’t anything to make an oar out of,” answered Amos.