"Is there any wood?"
"Yes. There you are again. I never think of anything. I get lost wondering what's going to happen next. You sit down. I'll attend to the fire. It is cold. You are shivering, aren't you"?
"I—I believe I am." Harriet got up and walked over to her companions. She walked rather unsteadily, but they were too much upset themselves to observe it. Tommy lay on a blanket with face buried in her arms, sobbing, every fourth sob being a hysterical moan. Harriet sat down beside the unhappy little girl, slipping an arm about her waist.
"It's all over now, honey. Don't cry."
"I'm thick! Pleathe give me thome—thome water."
"Water," called Harriet. "Is there any? If not, let Mr. Janus get it, if he will."
"If she can wait a few moments we'll all have some hot coffee," answered the guide. But Tommy could not wait. She insisted on having a drink of water, so the guide brought it to her. This seemed to take the girl's mind from her recent fright, and lying on her back Tommy Thompson gradually became quiet and surveyed the guide's coffee-making through half-closed eyes.
"Do you think you can go to sleep?" asked Miss Elting, stooping over the recumbent Tommy.
"Not until I get thome coffee," answered Tommy, gazing up soulfully into the anxious face of the guardian.
Margery laughed almost hysterically. It was the first laugh that had been heard in camp for some time, so it was welcome, helping to relieve the tension as it did. Tommy turned her eyes on her stout friend in a droll way which set Margery to giggling afresh.