Part 27 (1/2)

'As numberless as the sands on the seash.o.r.e, As numberless as the sands on the sh.o.r.e, Oh, what a sight 'twill be, when the ransomed host we see, As numberless as--'

Well, what do you say? Shall we heave ahead for the place where Uncle Sam's birds are goin' to nest--his two-legged birds, I mean?”

They walked up the beach a little way, then turned inland, climbed a dune covered with beachgra.s.s and emerged upon the flat meadows which would soon be the flying field. They walked about among the sheds, the frames of the barracks, and inspected the office building from outside. There were gangs of workmen, carpenters, plumbers and shovelers, but almost no uniforms. Barbara was disappointed.

”But there ARE soldiers here,” she declared. ”Mamma said there were, officer soldiers, you know.”

”I cal'late there ain't very many yet,” explained her companion.

”Only the few that's in charge, I guess likely. By and by there'll be enough, officers and men both, but now there's only carpenters and such.”

”But there are SOME officer ones--” insisted Babbie. ”I wonder-- Oh, see, Uncle Jed, through that window--see, aren't those soldiers? They've got on soldier clothes.”

Jed presumed likely that they were. Barbara nodded, sagely. ”And they're officers, too,” she said, ”I'm sure they are because they're in the office. Do they call them officers because they work in offices, Uncle Jed?”

After an hour's walking about they went back to the place where they had left the boat and Jed set about making the chowder.

Barbara watched him build the fire and open the clams, but then, growing tired of sitting still, she was seized with an idea.

”Uncle Jed,” she asked, ”can't you whittle me a s.h.i.+ngle boat? You know you did once at our beach at home. And there's the cunningest little pond to sail it on. Mamma would let me sail it there, I know, 'cause it isn't a bit deep. You come and see, Uncle Jed.”

The ”pond” was a puddle, perhaps twenty feet across, left by the outgoing tide. Its greatest depth was not more than a foot. Jed absent-mindedly declared the pond to be safe enough but that he could not make a s.h.i.+ngle boat, not having the necessary s.h.i.+ngle.

”Would you if you had one?” persisted the young lady.

”Eh? . . . Oh, yes, sartin, I guess so.”

”All right. Here is one. I picked it up on top of that little hill. I guess it blew there. It's blowing ever so much harder up there than it is here on the beach.”

The s.h.i.+ngle boat being hurriedly made, its owner begged for a paper sail. ”The other one you made me had a paper sail, Uncle Jed.”

Jed pleaded that he had no paper. ”There's some wrapped 'round the lunch,” he said, ”but it's all b.u.t.ter and such. 'Twouldn't be any good for a sail. Er--er--don't you think we'd better put off makin' the sail till we get home or--or somewheres? This chowder is sort of on my conscience this minute.”

Babbie evidently did not think so. She went away on an exploring expedition. In a few minutes she returned, a sheet of paper in her hand.

”It was blowing around just where I found the s.h.i.+ngle,” she declared. ”It's a real nice place to find things, up on that hill place, Uncle Jed.”

Jed took the paper, looked at it absently--he had taken off his coat during the fire-building and his gla.s.ses were presumably in the coat pocket--and then hastily doubled it across, thrust the mast of the ”s.h.i.+ngle boat” through it at top and bottom, and handed the craft to his small companion.

”There!” he observed; ”there she is, launched, rigged and all but christened. Call her the--the 'Geranium'--the 'Sunflower'--what's the name of that doll baby of yours? Oh, yes, the 'Petunia.' Call her that and set her afloat.”

But Barbara shook her head.

”I think,” she said, ”if you don't mind, Uncle Jed, I shall call this one 'Ruth,' that's Mamma's name, you know. The other one you made me was named for Petunia, and we wouldn't want to name 'em ALL for her. It might make her too--too-- Oh, what ARE those things you make, Uncle Jed? In the shop, I mean.”

”Eh? Windmills?”

”No. The others--those you tell the wind with. I know--vanes. It might make Petunia too vain. That's what Mamma said I mustn't be when I had my new coat, the one with the fur, you know.”

She trotted off. Jed busied himself with the chowder. A few minutes later a voice behind him said: ”Hi, there!” He turned to see a broad-shouldered stranger, evidently a carpenter or workman of some sort, standing at the top of the sand dune and looking down at him with marked interest.

”Hi, there!” repeated the stranger.