Miles had some pebbles in his pocket, and, slipping off his garter, he improvised a sling; he would kill the bird for their supper, he told his sister, but Dolly protested; she would rather the pretty bird lived and sang than that she should eat him. So the songster finished his tune and flashed away into the darkening sky, and Miles felt as warm a glow of self-gratulation at giving in to his sister as if he had been quite certain of fetching down the bird with his sling.
"But we've naught for our supper now, Dolly," he sighed presently. "To-morrow, though, I'll find my way to the shore and take us some clams, and, in any case, we'll gather plenty of berries when it's daylight. And you do not mind going supperless now?"
"N--no," Dolly assented faintly; since the twilight came on them, she had grown very quiet.
"I wish Ned Lister could 'a' slipped away with us," Miles resumed. "If he were here with his fowling piece and his fishing line, he'd take us all the victuals we'd want. And he'd be good company, too."
Then they sat in silence a time, very close to each other, with the dog at their feet. Over in the west the bright stars twinkled through the last waning flecks of the sunset glow, and somewhere in the dark the frogs were piping. "Miles," whispered Dolly, "aren't you lonely?"
"Do you not think--perhaps we could walk back home? I'm not weary now."
"I've come hither to stay," Miles said crossly; "you can run back if you will; no one will flog you."
"You know I cannot go alone," whimpered Dolly. "And maybe there are Indians and lions will get us. Hark!"
Miles sat erect and listened, every nerve tense, but he heard only the snap of a branch, yonder among the black trees. "It was naught, Dolly," he said more kindly, "and you needn't fear; I can take care of you. Come, let's lie down in our shelter, and to-morrow in the daylight we'll build our house."
They crept in behind the screen of branches slowly, for Dolly had hold on Miles's hand and would not let go; but at last they were settled, side by side, Dolly next the leaning roof, and Trug close against Miles. "The leaves tickle my nose," protested the little girl, "and there are humps in the ground, and I'm sure that bugs will crawl into my ears." With a movement that quite disarranged her companions, she sat up and tied her apron over her head; then all three lay down once more. "It's--it's fearsome still," Dolly whispered once, and then no further words passed between them.