Every day they took their swimming-lesson. Now they began to practice on long swims. They would take the Muggywah out, and while Marian or Delbert paddled it along, or tended the sail if there was a breeze, the rest would swim by the side. As soon as one got tired, all he had to do was to climb in and take his turn with the paddle. Even Davie was learning a little about paddling, and Jennie and Esther, now eleven and nine years old, could manage very nicely.
Out on the blue water they made a pretty picture,—the Muggywah dancing along with her gay striped sail, Marian in a garment constructed of her old brown petticoat which reached to her knees but left neck and arms bare, Davie’s old straw hat tied under her chin, her long braids falling to her waist as she steered with the oar; the four children, their slender bodies gleaming white in the water, splashing each other, laughing, calling, now and again climbing on the seaweed deck to rest a few minutes before plunging down again into the salty waves.
And when they had been out long enough, they would turn the Muggywah and run for Smugglers’, pretending they were fleeing from their enemies,—smugglers escaping from the government revenue men maybe, or Indians returning from striking some decisive blow at their tribal foes.
Always there were the little burros to be tended, a little gardening to be done each day, fresh water to be carried up to the Cave, and wood to be gathered. Marian had learned that as long as she worked with them her tribe did very well, but it was not well to leave them at separate tasks. She still felt, too, the desire to have them within her reach, to know for a certainty where each one was and that he or she was safe. So they fished together, gathered wood together, worked together in the garden.
Delbert sometimes went to the pasture alone when Marian was busy with something else, yet as a rule he took Esther with him even there. Jennie was more apt to stay with Marian, to help with the cooking, or maybe just to sit on the rocks gazing out over the sea. As for Davie, he stayed with Marian too. Delbert never wanted him along when he was after game, for the little fellow was sure to make some sort of a noise at the wrong time, which Delbert always found hard to forgive, while Esther, on the other hand, would follow at his heels like a well-trained dog, moving silently, stealthily, and her aim was nearly equal to his own.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BUILDING OF THE WICKIUP
Delbert came laughing to his breakfast one morning. “I’ve found the ideal spot for a house,” he said.
“Good for you!” said Marian, as she carefully raked out from the embers the red snapper which had been stuffed with green peppers, wrapped in green banana leaves, and buried in the hot coals and ashes overnight. “All right, tell us about it as we eat.”
“It can’t be told. It will have to be seen to be appreciated,” he said.