"You jes' lay down an' let me go out an' find grub, Massa Cap," Chris pleaded. "I feels jes' as well as can be again now."
But the sturdy old sailor would not listen to his pleadings.
CHAPTER XXII.
ANOTHER DANGER.
"Dar's one thing I want you to do 'fore you go projectin' off," said the little negro. "I wants you to cut me some ob dem palmetto buds. I'se goin' to braid you a hat. Hit's a plum wonder dat you ain't got sun struck goin' bareheaded like you is."
"I ain't had time to remember that I lost my hat when we were wrecked. I'se been so worried an' busy," said the captain. "Now you speak of it, my head does feel sort of dull an' heavy. I hope the boys will think to cover their heads with something—this sun does beat down right hot."
"Mass Charley will sho' rig up some kind ob hat," Chris declared, confidently. "'Sides dey's both young an' can stand a heap more sun den what you kin. You jes' be mighty careful dis mornin' an' by noon dis nigger will hab a fine hat fixed for you. I'se done made lots ob dem on Cat Island."
There was a few young cabbage palms scattered over the island and the captain cut out several of the buds with his sheath knife and placed them beside the little negro, then, knotting up the ends of his bandanna handkerchief to form a turban, he took his spear and started for the shore.
Chris watched his slow, faltering, painful steps until he was out of sight then began on his proposed task. The buds were really young fresh leaves yet unfolded, soft and pliable, yet very strong. He shredded them into strips about half an inch in width until he had accumulated quite a pile; then, taking four of the pieces at a time, with deft, skillful fingers, he wove them into a braid about an inch in width.