There she was, on a bed of pine needles, lying like an Hawaiian under the most picturesque hut. It was open on the side the girls were facing, but the thatched roof fell over the other sides in true tropical fashion.
“Orilla,” breathed Nancy, who was quickly beside the unhappy girl, “what has happened?”
“I’m sick, Nancy,” she replied, “too sick to walk and—and—I’ve been lying here—so long!”
“You want a drink, Orilla,” insisted Rosa, all excitement now. “Here’s your tin cup, but your water pail is—empty!”
“Yes. I couldn’t get to the spring—”
“The boatman may have some drinking water,” Dell suggested. “Give me the pail, Rosa.”
Immediately they set about to care for the sick girl, stifling their natural curiosity at the strange surroundings.
“Don’t go away, Nancy,” Orilla begged, as Nancy rose from her side to attend to something. “As I lay here I have been thinking of so many things. Just let me have a drink, Dell. Thank you for coming,” she said, noticing Dell Durand’s kind attention. “I’m not worth all this bother.”
“Hush,” ordered Nancy, “you don’t want us crying, do you? When folks talk that way—”
“It’s so like a funeral,” spoke up the impulsive Rosa, who was secretly looking over the hut, mystified and astounded.