As the tablecloth was still serving as a roof, Mr. Black found a couple of clean boards that served very nicely in its stead. This was not difficult, since all the driftwood was most beautifully clean. So, too, was the sand. Even the soil under the trees, being free from clay, was clean, dry, and pleasant. One could sit on the ground without fear of dampness, dirt, or snakes. It was pleasant ground.
"This place," said Mrs. Crane, who was boiling the coffee water, "is absolutely dust-proof, I believe. I'd like to live here all the time, if only to breathe this air."
"Let's stay," pleaded Bettie. "I don't want to go home."
"Neither do I," said Mabel.
"Nor I," said Henrietta.
"Nor I," echoed Marjory, who had finally succeeded in braiding her long, fair hair.
"I guess," said Mr. Black, "we'll have to stay for awhile, whether we want to or not. But, if we don't turn up to-day, they'll begin to hunt for us."
"Oh," groaned Henrietta, "I hope not."
"Peter," said Mrs. Crane, "we didn't meet a single soul on that road after we took the turn-off just out of Lakeville."
"I don't wonder," returned Mr. Black. "Nobody that could possibly travel by any other road would ever think of taking that one. I suspect that it hasn't been used very much since Randall stopped lumbering at Barclay's Point, six years ago. But, never fear, they'll find us all right—we're only seventeen miles from Lakeville."