“Yes, father; I think so.”
“Flint and steel and tinder?”
“Oh yes.”
“Stop!” cried the captain. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten something.”
“No, father,” said Rifle. “I went over the things too, and so did Tim. Powder, shot, bullets, knives, damper iron, hatchets, tent-cloth.”
“I know,” cried Aunt Georgie. “I thought they would. No extra blankets.”
“Yes, we have, aunt,” cried Tim, laughing.
“Then you have no sticking-plaster.”
“That we have, aunt, and bits of linen rag, and needles and thread. You gave them to me,” said Rifle. “I think we have everything we ought to carry.”
“No,” said the captain; “there is something else.”