Dave, who had been silently waiting, laughed appreciatively. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sound, too; for the half-breed's voice was soft and deep.
"Lots of paper on top of som' tree," he said. "Ah br-r-reeng som'."
"I can see leaves," laughed Henrietta, squinting upward, "but no pages."
"He means birch bark," explained quick-witted Marjory. "See, he's cutting big squares of it."
When the squares were peeled into many thin sheets (the girls thought that great sport) Mr. Black distributed them among the other castaways.
"Here are two pencils," said he. "I'll use my fountain pen."
"And I always have pencils in my bag," said Mrs. Crane. "I'll tend to the provisions, Peter, if you'll look out for the other things. Be sure, girls, to ask for extra shoes and stockings; you'll need those and something warm to sleep in."
Noting that one more pencil was needed, Dave began to fumble in an apparently bottomless pocket. From the depths he finally produced a grimy, greasy stub, which he offered to pencil-less Marjory.
But Marjory, fastidious little maid that she was, drew back from it, loathingly, and declined.
Gentle-mannered Jean, promptly surmising that Dave's feelings might be hurt, handed her own clean, long pencil to Marjory and accepted Dave's offering, with a sweet-voiced "thank you."