Swiss Family Robinson by Daisy Alberto Page B

Then we sat down to rest among the soft leaves on the ground.
    Ernest studied the tree closest to us. “What sort of tree is this?” he asked.
    “I think these must be wild figs,” I replied. Their sweet fruit would be as welcome as their shade.
    After a good dinner, we slung hammocks from the arched roots of the tree. We covered the arches with the sailcloth to form a tent.
    Fritz, Ernest, and I went to the beach to gather wood and bamboo. Then we set to work on a rope ladder to reach what wouldbecome our tree house—thirty feet above the ground.
    When the ladder was finished, Jack climbed up, quick as a monkey. “What a grand home we will have here!” he exclaimed. Fritz was soon by his side. I followed with an ax and took a survey of the tree. It was perfect! The branches were strong and close. We could simply lay some planks across them to make floors. We worked until after dark, and rose early the next morning to set to work again.
    Fritz and I climbed the ladder. We chopped off the extra branches from the tree so they wouldn’t be in our way. We left a few branches to hang the hammocks on and some higher ones to support the sailcloth roof.
    My wife tied the wood we had brought to a rope, and Fritz and I hauled it up. We laid it down on the bottom branches to form a smooth, solid floor. Around this platform we built a wall of planks. Then we threw the sailcloth over the higher branches for a roof. We drew it down and firmly nailed it in place.

    Our house was enclosed on three sides by the walls and the great trunk. We left the front open to let in the sea breeze. We then hauled up our hammocks and hung them. It wasn’t dark yet, so we cleared the floor of leaves and twigs. We used the rest of the wood to build a table and a few benches.
    After working so hard, we flung ourselves on the grass below. My wife set supper out on the table we had made. “Come and taste flamingo stew,” she said.
    That night, we lit our watch fires and leftthe dogs on guard. Then we climbed the ladder. I went last, with Franz on my back. I pulled the ladder up behind us. I felt safer than I had since we landed.

“W hat shall we do today?” the children asked the next morning.
    “On the seventh day thou shall rest,” I replied.
    “Is it really Sunday?” asked Jack. “But what shall we do? We can’t go to church here.”
    “The leafy shade of this tree is more beautiful than any church,” I said. “We will worship here.”
    After our simple service, I let the children spend the day as they wished. Jack and I made a little bow and some arrows for Franz to shoot with.
    Suddenly we heard a shot over our heads. Two small birds fell at our feet. We looked up and saw Ernest in the branches.
    He slipped down the ladder and brought the birds to me. The birds had come to eat the figs from our tree. Since the figs were just now becoming ripe, there would probably soon be large flocks of birds in our trees.
    The tropics are known to have a rainy season every year. I had been worried about how we would find food when the rains came. I knew that if we could catch the birds, we could store them for later.
    I was still thinking on this when we were called to dinner. During the meal, Isuggested we name the different spots on the island. “Let us begin by naming the bay in which we landed.”
    “I think,” said my wife, “that, as thanks for our escape, we shall call it Safety Bay.”
    This idea was met with approval. We then named our first campsite Tentholm. The islet in the bay we called Shark Island. Our tree house Falconhurst. The first hill we climbed Prospect Hill. The stream by our landing place Jackal River, because we’d seen jackals there. And the rocky heights from which we saw we were alone Cape Disappointment.
    The next day, we took a hike to Tentholm. The boys roamed ahead. Presently, we heard a joyful shout. Ernest raced toward me, holding a plant. “Potatoes!” he gasped with sparkling eyes.
    “Yes,” cried Jack.