“Sew ’em all same like squaw,” said Toma.
“But you had no needle.”
“Make ’em needle out of stick,” came the prompt reply.
“But what about the sinew, Toma? You had no thread. How could you sew without thread?”
Toma hung his head. He hated to make this admission, but the truth must come out. Toma was always truthful.
“I use part of fish-line,” he explained.
“Part of the fish-line?” gurgled Dick.
“Yes, I use ’em part of the fish-line.”
“Well, I must admit that you made good use of it. There is really more than we require anyway. I’m glad for your sake, Toma. Who, beside yourself, would ever have thought of a stunt like that? They’ll come in mighty handy for you, of course, but won’t you feel cold, Toma? When the winds are chilly I’m afraid you’ll suffer.”
Toma shook his head, bit his lips and stared very hard at some imaginary object across the river. It was plain that he was keenly embarrassed and quite at a loss to know what to say. Finally, he found the words that he had been vainly striving for and quickly blurted them out: