Jak managed a weak grin. "Guess you're right, Mother. But we are coming along fine."
"Sure, we've almost completed outlining the site. We'll have to take tomorrow off anyway, to go to the forest out there and cut some more stakes," Jon added.
"It'll make a nice vacation. I'm really fed up with so much sameness of hard work."
"Yes, it's been a steady grind, no fooling, but we wanted to get it done as quick as we can, so Pop can check it."
For their father had been waking up several times every day, their mother reported. True, he had only been conscious for short periods, and was still too weak to be bothered with any of their problems. But, she told the boys, he was able to eat something each time he awoke, and his mind was clear again. She was preparing easily eaten and digested foods that would bring back his strength quickly.
Jak asked anxiously whether his father had mentioned how the leg felt, and Mrs. Carver told him, "He says it doesn't pain any, although sometimes it itches beneath the cast."
Later on, just as they finished eating, Jak suggested, "Take your tackle along tomorrow, Chubby, and we'll chop where the woods meet the river."
"Why, t'anks, pal, you're a good kid." Jon made a fake pass at his brother, who jumped up from the table and yanked the other's chair backward, starting a small scuffle which their mother wisely did not try to stop, knowing that, tired as they were, it would last only a few seconds and would be good for them.
When the boys returned from their expedition the next night, with arms and backs loaded with bundles of stakes, and Jon's creel well-filled with Two's fish-things, she met them anxiously at the lockdoor.