“We can take the clams to Cousin Ruth and she can make chowder and she’ll give us some cookies, maybe,” said Mun Bun.

“I like clams better than cookies,” remarked Margy.  “I mean I like to eat cookies, but I like to dig clams.”

“You can’t dig cookies,” said Mun Bun.

“You could dig one if you dropped yours in the sand,” returned his sister.

“Yes, you could do that,” agreed the little boy.  “But it would be all sand, and it wouldn’t be good to eat.”

“I don’t guess it would.  We’ll just dig clams.  Anyhow, we hasn’t any cookies to dig or to eat.”

This was very true.  And now the two little children began to hunt for clam shells to use for shovels in digging.  They wanted the large shells of the hard clam, and soon each had one.  Then they began to dig, as they had seen their father and Cousin Tom do.  For Daddy Bunker had once taken Margy and Mun Bun with him and the other Mr. Bunker, when they went to dig soft clams.

Whether Margy and Mun Bun did not know how to dig, or whether there were no clams in the sand of the island I do not know.  But I do know that the two little Bunkers did not find any, though they dug holes until their backs ached.

Then Margy said: 

“Let’s don’t play this any more.”

“What shall we play?” asked Mun Bun.

“Oh, let’s see if we can find some wood and make little boats.”

So they walked about the island looking for bits of wood.  But none was to be found.  For wood floats; that is, unless it is so soaked with water as to be too heavy, and all the pieces of wood that had ever been on the island had floated away.

“I don’t guess we can build any boats,” said Margy.  “Let’s go back to shore and get some wood, and then we can come back and sail boats.”

“That’ll be fun,” said Mun Bun.  “We’ll go.”

But when he and his sister started to wade back, they had not gone very far before Margy cried: 

“Oh, the water’s terrible deep!  Look how deep down my foot goes!”

Mun Bun looked.  Indeed the water was almost up to Margy’s knees now, and she had gone only a few steps away from the shore of the island.

“Let me try it,” said her brother.  “I’m bigger than you.”

He wasn’t, though he liked to think so, for Margy was a year older.  But I guess Mun Bun was like most boys; he liked to think himself larger than he was.

However, when he stepped out from the island, ahead of Margy, he, too, found that the water was deeper than it had been when they started to wade from the shore near Cousin Tom’s pier.

“What makes it?” asked Margy.

“I—­I don’t know,” answered Mun Bun.  “I guess somebody must have poured more water in the river.”

“Lessen maybe it rained,” suggested Margy.  “Don’t you know how Rainbow River gets bigger when it rains?”

“It didn’t rain,” said Mun Bun, “or we’d be wet on our backs.”