“But the staves are jointed, and the hoops squat them together.”
“So the planks of these boats are jointed, and the nails are clinched, and draw them as tight as a hoop does a barrel. Some of the boats the great folks have are painted the most beautiful colors, and gold leaf on them, and the sails as white as the driven snow.”
“Gold leaf!” said John; “what, the same that is on our great looking-glass, that father brought home from sea?”
“Yes.”
Thus chatting, they rowed leisurely along, not caring to hurry, since these were the last hours of their holiday.
“How did the Indians get fire?” asked Charlie.
“I don’t know,” said John; “but they did.”
“Perhaps,” said Fred, “when the lightning struck a tree, and set it on fire, they kept it, and never let it go out.”
“I don’t believe but it would go out some time,” said Charlie.
“I tell you what I should like to do, John; get Uncle Isaac to tell us how the Indians used to do, and go off in the woods and be real Indians a whole week; perhaps he’d go with us.”