There on the rocky outcropping of the tiny island in the middle of the great waters, the two young ladies sat upon the shore. They had labored long and hard to create the great raft that would carry them to land. To civilization and a new world.
“Are you ready?” asked Carol.
“I’m ready,” declared her determined companion.
Dressed in filthy rags that mere hours ago had been clean, pressed play clothing, they pushed the raft into the waters — when they heard the fateful calling.
“Oh no!” cried Carol. But there was no mistaking it. It was Mom. “It must be lunchtime,” she moaned. “Now we’ll NEVER get it launched.”
Thus the launching of the craft was left for yet one more day. All they could do was hope the water in the deepest puddle in the neighborhood would remain one more day lest they have to add wheels to the … well … whatever it was.
Raft, flotation device, or something else. They had built it from scraps and pieces of old crates. Somehow, it had held together, but they doubted it would hold together very long. Lunch might be too long for all they knew.
But the call had come and they had to go. You had to heed that call or dreadful things might happen. Dreadful things that might last well into the dark of evening!
And so homeward they trudged. Another hard day’s work lost to the calling of home. Their bold yet makeshift traveling device set aside for one more day …