Dan shook his head.
“It was stolen by the wind.”
“The wind! That’s right, it did blow terribly hard here for a few minutes! I was scared the hut would blow down.”
“Obviously, it was the wind that scattered the sand,” Mr. Hatfield went on. “Too bad you didn’t cover the picture with canvas before it was wrecked. Or, better still, you could have used a little shellac as a base to hold the sand in place. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it.”
“How long will it take to re-make the picture?” Brad asked with forced cheerfulness. “I’ll be glad to help, only I’m not very artistic.”
Dan remained silent. At the moment he was too discouraged to think of re-doing the sand painting.
Mr. Hatfield flung an arm about his slumped shoulders.
“Buck up, Dan,” he said. “Practice makes perfect, you know. You’ll make an even better picture next time.”
“We’ll all help you,” Chips offered. “Maybe next time we can do the picture Navajo style—all in one day.”
“We’ll almost have to, if we want to have it ready for the pow-wow Saturday,” Dan said with forced cheer. “Okay, fellows. We’ll start in again right after school tomorrow night. I’ll fix some more materials in the meantime.”