He wandered off and rolled a cigarette. Later on, as I have said, he
showed Tish how to do it--not, of course, that she meant to smoke, but
Tish is fond of learning how to do things. She got so she could roll
them with one hand, and she does it now in the winter evenings, instead
of rolling paper spills as formerly. When Charlie Sands comes, she
always has a supply ready for him, although occasionally somewhat dry
from waiting for a few weeks.

At the end of twenty minutes Tish snapped her watch shut.

"Time!" she called, and Bill came back.

"Well, I'll do it," he said. "I don't know as they'll put you in the
picture, but I'll see what I can do."

"Picture nothing!" Tish snapped. "You take us there and hide us. That's
the point. There must be caves round to put us in, although I don't
insist on a cave. They're damp usually."

Well, he looked puzzled, but he agreed. I caught Aggie's eye, and we
exchanged glances. There was trouble coming, and we knew it. Our long
experience with Tish had taught us not to ask questions. "Ours but to do
and die," as Aggie later said. But I confess to a feeling of uneasiness
during the remainder of that day.

We changed our course that afternoon, turning off at Saint Mary's and
spending the night near the Swiss Chalet at Going-to-the-Sun. Aggie and
I pleaded to spend the night in the chalet, but Tish was adamant.

"When I am out camping, I camp," she said. "I can have a bed at home,