They retired soon after supper because it was too windy to light a camp fire and it was no fun sitting around in the dark. Antha fell in the path to the tents, bumping her head and skinning her arm, and cried all the while she was being fixed up. Then she was afraid to go into the tent because it might blow down; she was afraid of the dark, of spiders, of everything. The girls were worn out by the time they had her in bed.
“Isn’t she a prune?” whispered Sahwah to Hinpoha. “I didn’t know a girl could be such a fraidy cat.”
“If she cries any more the tent will be flooded,” whispered Hinpoha in answer. “I never saw anybody cry so much.”
“I don’t want to seem inhospitable,” breathed Gladys behind her hand, “but I hope they won’t have to stay long.”
37But morning brought no letting up of the wind. The dawn showed the waves rolling as high as on the previous night. Breakfast was the same as supper, spaghetti and black coffee, which Antha again refused to touch, finishing the crackers and the jam.
Breakfast over they all raced down to see how the beloved war canoe was faring. She was still safe and sound and looked as wonderful as she did the day before. With pride the boys and girls displayed her to the twins.
“Huh,” said Anthony disdainfully, “that isn’t much of a war canoe. Some boys I know have one twice as big. And theirs has lockers in the ends. Yours hasn’t any lockers, has it?”
They were obliged to admit that the cherished Nyoda carried no lockers.
“You didn’t get much of a war canoe, did you?” said Anthony patronizingly.
“We got the best papa could afford,” replied Gladys mildly.