“No, because over here we’ll have the trees between us and the wind. Push her in here, Tom.”
The canoes were nosed up on a yard-wide beach of soft sand and the boys disembarked. The bank was only two or three feet high and they scrambled up it, bearing the provisions and rugs. There was a little plateau of grass here and back of it the land sloped up in a tiny ridge thickly grown with young oaks and stunted, misshapen cedars. The fringe of trees broke to some extent the wind, which blew strongly here across a mile of marsh and meadow. There were no houses near, although farther up stream and on the other side a farm was in sight a half mile distant. There was plenty of wood lying along the bank and Dan discovered dead cedar which he uprooted and added to the fuel pile. Alf found a piece of dry pine wood and splintered it with his knife.
“Who’s got a piece of paper?” he asked.
“You don’t need paper,” said Tom. “Use dry grass.”
So Alf gathered a few handfuls, leaned his whittlings neatly upon it, set some larger pieces on that and felt in his pockets.
“Got a match, Tom?” he inquired.
Tom went through his clothes and shook his head. Dan followed his example and shook his head likewise. Alf began to look anxious.
“Got a match, Gerald?” he cried. Gerald, who was gathering wood at a little distance, answered promptly and cheerfully.
“No, I haven’t, Alf. Will this be enough wood?”