The gloom was so deep, for there was no moon until very late (and if there had been, its rays could not have pierced the dense foliage), that they could hardly see each other's figures. Omas hastily gathered some leaves and dead twigs, which were heaped together against one of the boulders. Then he produced his flint and steel—for he had learned the trick long before of the whites—and by and by a shower of sparks was flying from the swift, sharp blows of the metal against the hard stone. A minute later one of the sparks "caught," and under his nursing a fire was speedily under way.
While he was thus engaged, Mrs. Ripley spread the blankets on the ground and Alice stretched her tired little body upon one of them.
"Mamma, I guess God will excuse me for not saying my prayers," she murmured, as she closed her eyes and sank into slumber.
Linna was tired, too, but she kept her feet and looked at her father for his permission, before presuming to lie down.
"Come, Linna, here is your place beside Alice," said the mother kindly.
Again she turned to her father, who was standing by the fire, looking off in the gloom, as if he suspected something wrong.
He gave the permission in their native tongue and she cuddled down beside her friend without further waiting.
"Mother," said Ben, "you had better lie down with them."
"Not yet," she replied, with a significant look at he Delaware, whose back was toward them.
"What about him?" asked the surprised lad in a low voice.