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The conversation had taken place as they climbed the hill to the Upper Town. Now, Mr. Whitney went off in the direction of his cottage, and Bob to the office. They were not allowed to sail with real sails, but with an umbrella—pooh! nobody could object to that, surely. He would hold the umbrella and Tellef would steer. “We will consider that later,” said Father..
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“Get up and look,” giggled Bob. Away went the umbrella, right out of his hands, and only by a hair’s breadth did the boat escape capsizing. Tellef, as quick as lightning, had thrown his weight to the upper side of the careening boat or they would have gone straight into the water. They had crossed the river and were going down stream. Here there was a gentle rise in the ground. About halfway to the top of this hill the Indian motioned them to stay where they were and then, taking their obedience for granted, dropped on hands and knees and started to crawl rapidly the remainder of the way. Wasn’t there something else he could sell so that Grandmother should see the ocean and everything again? Oh, of course—all those books about Indians; they must be worth a good deal and he had at least twelve of them. And his collection of eggs! Why, yes! They were perfectly beautiful eggs, and rare, many of them. To be sure almost every one was broken a little on one side. That didn’t matter a bit when they were placed nicely in a box, but perhaps people who bought eggs would rather have them whole. Well, the fishing rod was valuable, anyway..
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