“Stasch, what shall we do now?” asked Nell one day, after they had settled down and grown accustomed to the island.
“There is plenty to do,” answered the boy, and he counted on his outstretched fingers all the tasks awaiting them.
“To begin: Kali and Mea are heathens, and Nasibu, a child from Zanzibar, is a Mohammedan, and so everything must be explained to them; they must be taught the true Faith and baptized. In the second place, meat for the coming journey must be smoked, so I must shoot it; in the third place, as I have so many weapons and so much ammunition, I am going to teach Kali how to shoot, so that two of us will be armed and ready to act on the defensive; and, in the fourth place, have you forgotten about the flying kites?”
“The flying kites?”
“Yes, that you are going to glue together, or, better still, sew together. That will be your work.”
“I want to do something besides play.”
“That will by no means be play, but a very important work, perhaps the most important of all. Do not imagine that one kite will amount to anything; you must make fifty or more.”
“Why so many?” asked the girl, grown curious.
Then Stasch began to tell her his plans and hopes. He wanted to write on each kite their names, how they had escaped from the Dervishes, where they were to be found, and where they expected to go. He was also going to write on them that they needed help, and to beg some one to send a telegram to Port Said. He intended to send up these kites only when the wind was southwest.