“There ought to be a hammer around here somewhere,” Florence put in quickly. “Come on, and we’ll see if we can find it and the iron bar.”
“If you can’t find an iron bar,” called Jo Ann, “maybe I could use an old broom handle, if you’d make a point on one end of it.”
“All right,” they called as they disappeared into the room.
Entering the kitchen, they found Juana huddled in a chair by the fireplace, asleep.
Slipping by her, Florence took a small hammer out of a cupboard, and handed it to Peggy, saying in a low voice, “Now, if we can find an iron bar, we’ll be fixed.”
Peggy smiled and whispered, “Why, Florence, this is only a little tack hammer. You couldn’t drive anything into a stone wall with this—not in a thousand years.”
“I’m sure that’s the only one we have,” Florence answered in a troubled voice. “You see, since we can’t use nails in this house, we seldom have any use for a hammer.”
Peggy began staring around. “I’ll look and see what I can find.”
“Sh!” warned Florence. “Let’s not wake Juana if we can help it.”
Together they slipped quietly about the room, picking up first one object and then another, only to lay it down again in disgust.