He was very unhappy.
"Comale," warned his father sharply, "that was a bad cut! Be more careful!" Comale's father was attending to some bark that had dried to quills.
He was putting small cinnamon quills into larger ones, till he made a collection about forty inches long.

Then he would bind the cinnamon into bundles by pieces of split bamboo.

But Comale's father kept an eye on his son's work, also.
Comale was much abashed at his father's reproof.

For a time the lad kept his mind upon the cinnamon.

Then his thoughts went back to their old uncomfortable vein, for he found in a tree a little bundle of sticks from four to six inches long, all the sticks placed lengthwise, the whole looking like a small bunch of firewood.