"Really, you have done wonders! But let me call upon you each in turn. Harold McIntosh, you are hunting and fishing-master. Let me hear your report."
Harold took from his pocket a piece of paper about as broad as his hand, and a little longer. Besides the arms, ammunition and appurtenances, fishing-hooks, lines and nets, he closed his list with reading "brimstone."
"And what use," asked his uncle, "do you expect to make of that?"
"Taking bee-trees," he replied. "Brimstone is used in driving bees from the honey."
"Whether we meet with bee-trees or not, the brimstone will be in nobody's way; let it go. Mr. Hunting-master your list is perfect. Now Robert, yours."
His list embraced all that the boat would need for comfort, or for repair in case of accident. The books selected had reference to the taste of each. Shakespeare for his father, Goldsmith's Natural History for Harold, Scott's Napoleon for himself, Robinson Crusoe and Botany for his sister, and (in a spirit of mischief) Old Mother Hubbard for Frank.
But Frank was quite indignant at what he knew to be an insinuation against his childish taste. "I will not have old Mother Hubbard for my book," he said, as soon as he heard the list read. "I have passed that long ago; I wanted to carry Jack the Giant Killer."
"Scratch out Mother Hubbard," said his father to Robert, "and put down Jack. Your list, Master Robert, is pretty good; but I shall take the liberty of adding several volumes to the stock, in case of bad weather. And beside this, I should advise you all to carry your pocket Testaments, that you may continue your plan of daily reading. I should be sorry, and almost afraid, to let our sports interfere with our devotions."
Up to this time Frank had been listening to what had been read or spoken. But now, on a sign from Harold, he took a paper from his pocket, and, looking at its contents, commenced capering round the room, saying, "I can read it--I can read every word of it!"
"Read what?" asked his father.