"I never noticed before, in all my life, how quickly the tide goes out," added Eunice.
"We never happened to be caught on a desert island before," said Edna, "when you have to notice it. I suppose we get so in the habit of calculating upon it, and knowing by the looks of the water how long it will take, that we forget you don't know so well. But what will Cricket do? Think of her staying out there for about four hours, in that broiling sun, and nothing to eat. Gracious, she has the worst of it."
"Couldn't she take off her shoes and stockings, and wade in through the mud?" suddenly asked Eunice, brightening.
"No, indeed. She'd sink down to China, I guess. There's just about no bottom at all to this mud, if you step in it. Keep—perfectly—still—Cricket," she hallooed, suddenly, through her hands, as Cricket shows signs of restlessness.
"What will she do?" groaned Eunice. "It seems perfectly heartless to sit down and eat our luncheon, when she can't get a mouthful."
"But our not eating won't do her any good," objected Edna, very sensibly.
"Anyway, I'm not going to eat anything, with my Cricket out there, starving," cried Eunice, determinedly.
"But Eunice! how silly! It won't help Cricket any. She wouldn't like to have you not eat."
"I sha'n't eat a mouthful," replied Eunice, obstinately, shaking her head.
"Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll eat just one tiny sandwich apiece, so we won't just die with hunger, then we'll call to Cricket that we won't eat the rest till she can get in here. Then we'll eat it before we go back."