It was really a shockingly untidy back, because bits of Mabel and Mabel's underwear stuck out between the loops.
"She drinks so much water," complained Henrietta, "that my arm just aches from filling her cup."
"Put the pail beside her," suggested Mr. Black. "Water's the one thing that can't give out."
"That reminds me," said Mrs. Crane, "we'll need a lot of things by the time Dave goes to town again. My list is growing bigger every minute."
"Like Mabel," breathed Marjory, teasingly.
"Well," sighed Mabel—and the sigh burst two of her loops—"I shall ask for a very wide sailor-jumper to pull on over my head. The knots in those loops are pretty bumpy. If I were to sneeze, they'd all go, I guess."
Mrs. Crane, of course, appropriated most of the care of the newest castaway. But the willing girls helped in many ways.
"They are my feet," said slow-moving, stiff-jointed Mrs. Crane. "They bring me everything I need and save me hundreds of steps every day. They're all as good as gold, Peter."
"They're better," declared Mr. Black. "I wish they all belonged to me—anyway, we'll enjoy 'em while we can."
Sometimes one or another of the girls was permitted to sit beside the sleeping boy for half an hour, while Mrs. Crane busied herself with the camp cooking—no one else, the good lady was certain, could plan the meals; but nursing proved rather an uninteresting task, because there was really nothing that one could do. The girls found cooking rather more to their taste and were able to relieve Mrs. Crane of many of her culinary burdens. Jean, however, was the only one who could fry the fine brook trout that Mr. Black sometimes caught in the attractive river.