“There may be a fisherman living on this island.” Virg hoped she was a prophet, but was almost convinced that she was not. The island was too remote to be accessible to the markets.
Betsy, again on her feet, put one finger against her forehead as though in deep thought. “Idea!” she then sang out.
“Let’s hear it, old dear.” Babs felt her spirits greatly restored now that her feet were on dry land.
“When I was a little kid I read ‘Swiss Family Robinson’ seven times and I now recall a few of the ways that were resorted to for the obtaining of sustenance.”
“Shooting stars, Betsy! You must have swallowed the book whole when you finished reading it. You talk just like it.” It was of course Babs who was taunting her friend.
“I did!” Betsy solemnly looked about. “If the worst comes to the worst, we can build a house in a tree, the way they did, and—”
“Begin on the eats, old dear. What did the Swiss family do when they were hungry?”
“They—er—” It was plain Betsy’s memory needed considerable searching.
“Oh, yes, they dug clams.” This, with a sudden brightening expression on her piquant, freckled face. Then she laughed as she confessed, “I haven’t the vaguest notion how it was done.”
“I have!” Barbara was glad that she and Peyton had spent a summer on the coast when they were a boy and girl. “First you hunt around for a little air-bubbly-hole on the sand at low tide and then dig down and get the clam.”