Produced by Al Haines










[Illustration: Cover art]






[Frontispiece: "THE GIRLS LOOKED DOWN WITH A SORT OF AWED CURIOSITY."
_See page_ 224.]






THE GIRL CRUSOES

_A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEAS_



BY

MRS. HERBERT STRANG




_ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY N. TENISON_




LONDON

HENRY FROWDE

HODDER AND STOUGHTON

1912




RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,

BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, U.S.,

AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER THE FIRST

  TOMMY AND THE OTHERS

CHAPTER THE SECOND

  UNCLE BEN

CHAPTER THE THIRD

  LEAVING HOME

CHAPTER THE FOURTH

  ABOARD THE _ELIZABETH_

CHAPTER THE FIFTH

  A MIDNIGHT WRECK

CHAPTER THE SIXTH

  THE ISLAND BEAUTIFUL

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

  A LOCAL HABITATION

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH

  THE FISHERS

CHAPTER THE NINTH

  THE LITTLE BROWN FACE

CHAPTER THE TENTH

  ANXIOUS DAYS

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

  A TROPICAL STORM

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH

  ALARMS AND DISCOVERIES

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH

  LOST

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH

  IN THE PIT

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH

  THE ELEVENTH HOUR

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH

  NEW TERRORS

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

  THE FOUNDLING

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH

  ANOTHER BROWN FACE

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH

  THE SHARK

CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH

  THE PRISONER IN THE CAVE

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST

  A DESPERATE ADVENTURE

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND

  FRIENDS IN NEED

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD

  THE HOME-COMING




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


"THE GIRLS LOOKED DOWN WITH A SORT OF AWED
  CURIOSITY" (see page 224) . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"LYING ON A PILE OF CANVAS HUDDLED A LITTLE FIGURE"

"THE THREE TOGETHER DRAGGED THE BOAT UP THE BEACH"

"'THERE!' SHE CRIED TRIUMPHANTLY, YET FEARFULLY"

"WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK"

"SHE FELT THAT FANGATI COULD NOT REACH HER IN TIME"




CHAPTER I

TOMMY AND THE OTHERS

At noon on a day late in September, the express train from London
rested, panting and impatient, for a brief halt at the little
countryside station of Poppicombe.  The arrival and departure of this
train was the event of the day to most of the inhabitants, not only of
Poppicombe, but of the surrounding villages.  There were quite
half-a-dozen people standing on the platform, and the station staff,
consisting of two men and a boy, were moving about briskly.  One man
was busily engaged in handing various newspapers and packages, which
had been thrown from the guard's van, to the people who had been
awaiting them; the other man, the stationmaster, was exchanging a few
words with the guard, at the end of the platform; while the boy porter,
looking about disconsolately for some doors to bang, distinguished
himself by suddenly slamming the open door of the luggage van, much to
the astonishment of the guard.  As soon as the train had rumbled away,
the young porter seized a newspaper from a pile standing on a trolly,
opened it at a particular page, and, after reading a few words, let
forth a wild war-whoop.  Then, in spite of the glare in the
stationmaster's eye, he rushed madly out of the station and looked
excitedly up Longhill Avenue.  There in the distance he saw, coming
slowly towards the station, a young girl of twelve or thirteen years of
age, seated upon a sturdy Exmoor pony.  Although she sat her mount with
the ease that comes only to the born rider, a close observer would have
noticed that the slight droop about her slim young shoulders became
more pronounced as she neared her destination.  She was dressed in
black, and her plain wide-brimmed sailor hat was trimmed only with a
narrow band of crape.

She rode forward with an eye that seemed to ignore all outward objects,
her thin, small-featured face betokening a mood of deep despondency.
Her errand had been the same for many days, and day after day she had
met with nothing but disappointment.  A few weeks ago she had taken the
journey at a canter.  Now, in spite of her natural high spirits, Tommy,
as she was called by her family and friends, held the reins in such a
listless fashion that the pony merely sauntered through the Avenue, as
though he too shared her depression.  Her lack of vigour was perhaps
the more noticeable because her thin, wiry body looked framed for
energy.  There was an unmistakable air of health about the young
girlish figure, but Tommy, although she was quite unconscious of it,
was suffering from fatigue of the spirit.  She had borne up bravely
enough at first, but successive daily disappointments had at length
proved too much for her.

Now Longhill Avenue does not belie its name.  It has a hill, and the
hill is long and gently sloping, with rows of tall chestnut-trees on
either side.  When Tommy had reached the foot of the hill, she suddenly
became aware that some one was shouting lustily.  She started, and
looking up quickly, saw a quaint little figure, dressed in corduroys,
with a peaked cap much too large for him, wildly waving a paper, and
rushing towards her from the station yard as fast as hobnailed boots
allowed.  She touched up her pony and was soon within hail of the
freckled, rosy-cheeked young porter, whose face was spread abroad with
smiles.

"It's all right, miss, her be sound as bacon," he gasped breathlessly.
"See then!" he added, and as Tommy came nearer to him he pointed with a
grimy thumb to the Shipping Intelligence column of the newspaper which
he had snatched from the pile at the station.

Tommy took the paper, and, scanning the paragraph eagerly, read: "The
barque Elizabeth, thirty days overdue from Valparaiso, spoken by the
liner Kildonan Castle, in the Bay of Biscay; all well."

As she read these few lines, the whole expression of Tommy's face
changed.  Her dark eyes brightened; a wave of gladness seemed to surge
through her as she drew herself erect in the saddle.  The smile about
the corners of her rather wide but sweet-looking mouth deepened, and
even her hair, which had appeared dispirited a few moments ago, now
curled itself more tightly about her small dainty head.

"Ah! won't they be glad!" she ejaculated in her clear, brisk voice.
"Dan, you're a cherub," she cried, "a perfect cherub; you are indeed,
Dan;" and, turning her pony about, was off like the wind.

Dan Whiddon watched her admiringly.

"Her do be mortal pleased," he said to himself, "and her naming me
'cherub' be her way o' saying 'thankee,' I reckon.  'Cherub,' says she.
Now what will old Berry be calling I?"

He clumped heavily back to the station.

"Now, you young stunpoll," cried the stationmaster sternly, "what do
'ee mean by rampaging off like that?"

"Miss Tommy's uncle bean't a dead 'un arter all, I reckon," said the
boy.  "His ship be behind time, that's all, and he'll be coming
down-along soon."

Dan's reply was not a particularly lucid one, but as anybody's business
was everybody's business in Poppicombe, the station-master had no
difficulty in understanding the youth.  He warned Dan of the evil
effects of not minding one's own business, and crossing the line,
entered into a long discussion with his ticket-clerk concerning Miss
Tommy and her private affairs.

Meanwhile Tommy was galloping at breakneck speed the four miles which
led to her home.  About a quarter of a mile from Plum-Tree Farm, where
the Westmacott family, Tommy's people, had lived for generations, she
espied her sisters standing at the gate leading into the paddock.  They
had heard the sound of the quick tramp of the pony's hoofs in the
distance, and had rushed out to see why Tommy on this particular day
was riding so furiously.  On catching sight of them she repeated, in
her own inimitable way, Dan's method of breaking the good news.  She
yelled at the top of her voice, and waved the newspaper high above her
head.  So excited was she that she almost threw the newspaper at her
elder sister, and it dropped in a puddle formed by the recent rains.
Tommy was off the saddle in a moment, and leaving the pony to find his
way to the stable, she picked up the fallen paper, and wiping the dirt
from it with her pocket-handkerchief, gave it triumphantly to her tall,
dark, handsome sister Elizabeth, whilst Mary, the second girl, drawing
nearer to Elizabeth's side, stood quietly waiting.

The three girls bore a certain family likeness to each other, but the
differences were almost equally striking.  The two eldest were tall and
slim, and had the same dark-coloured eyes, but there the resemblance
ceased.  In character they were as far apart as the poles.  Elizabeth,
called after her mother, who had died when Tommy was only a few months
old, was a capable girl of nineteen years of age, with a magnificent
head of rich dark hair, and deep-blue eyes.  Her manner was grave and
quiet.  She had been a mother to the two younger girls ever since she
could remember, and responsibility had made her old for her years.  Her
father, too, had made her his constant companion, and she had been his
right hand in managing the farm and keeping the accounts during the
years that had preceded his death a few months before.  Mary, the
second girl, who had just turned fifteen, was as fair as Elizabeth was
dark, but with the same deep-coloured starry eyes.  She was the most
studious of the three, and it was always a great delight to Tommy, when
she found her lost in some book of travel or adventure, to awaken her
from her dreams by forming a mouthpiece with her hands and shouting in
poor Mary's ear, "Hallo! are you there?"  But Tommy's winning smile
always disarmed Mary's wrath, and, in spite of constant small
disagreements, the two were excellent friends.

The youngest girl, Katherine, our friend Tommy, was thin and wiry in
build, somewhat short for her years, with small black twinkling eyes,
and a little head running over with golden curls.  Her chief
characteristic so far was an endless capacity for getting into scrapes.
A demon of mischief always seemed lurking in the twinkling depths of
her merry eyes.  Just now they danced with excitement, as she said:
"Well, of all the cool customers you must be the coolest, Mary, to
stand there waiting, and never to change a hair, or look over the paper
in Elizabeth's hand, or anything.  Oh dear!  Oh dear! what can you be
made of?  Dear old Uncle Ben is coming home, coming home, coming home!"
and catching Mary by the waist, she sang, "Waltz me round, Mary, waltz
me round," and twirled her sister round and round until she was
completely out of breath.

"Do make her stop it, Bess," besought Mary gaspingly.

"Tommy darling, do try to be a bit sensible," said Elizabeth, with a
smile.

"Not I!" said Tommy, "why should be sensible?" as she gave Mary's
pigtail a tug.

Elizabeth, recognizing Tommy's mood, and fearing there would be
"ructions" presently, tactfully put her arm about her gay-hearted,
mischievous small sister, and led the way indoors.

This was not the first time by any means that Elizabeth had acted as
peacemaker in the Westmacott family.  When she was quite a child, and
Tommy a mere baby, she had often been called by Mrs. Pratt, the
housekeeper, to see if she could induce "that plaguy young limb" to
behave herself.  Later on, Elizabeth had, times without number, pleaded
with her father not to be so angry, or quite so severe, with his
youngest girl, however trying the child might be; and Mr. Westmacott,
seeing that Elizabeth thoroughly understood "the imp of mischief," as
he called her the day he had been obliged to summon all hands on the
farm to rescue her and her pony from a bog, left her more and more to
his eldest daughter's care.  Then when Tommy was old enough to
accompany her sisters to "lessons" at the Vicarage, again Elizabeth had
to pour oil on troubled waters, for the vicar, an old friend of her
father's, who had undertaken the education of the three girls, and
whose word had hitherto been taken as law, often became very irritable
when Tommy would argue instead of accepting facts.  As Tommy increased
in stature, she became, under Elizabeth's wise guidance, more and more
amenable to reason, but she never lost her absolute fearlessness and
independence.

All the girls had been encouraged by their father to live an open-air
life, and Tommy always led the way instinctively whenever they went
riding, driving, rowing and fishing.  The farmhouse was the old manor
house.  The huge kitchen, with its deep-seated fireplace and
low-raftered oak-beamed ceiling, was now used as a living-room.  It had
three deep bay windows, each looking across the flower garden on to the
moors.  The breath of autumn was in the air, but the hollyhocks and
gladioli still flaunted their gay colours, as though they refused to
own that summer had ended.  The garden was Elizabeth's special pride;
she loved to keep it an old-fashioned, old-world garden, and had
herself planted sweet peas and stocks, and the spiked gillyflower,
amongst the lavender bushes and the oleanders.  In fact, after her
father's death, when Elizabeth had found that his assets were really
"nil," owing to a succession of bad crops and the cattle-disease
spreading so rapidly among the kine, she had had serious thoughts of
trying to take up gardening as a profession, but on talking it over
with her sisters they agreed that it would be better to wait until the
return of their uncle.

Captain Barton was their mother's only brother.  He was a deep-sea
captain, and at the time of his brother-in-law's death he was sailing
in mid-Pacific.  But at the first port the vessel had touched, he had
received a letter from his eldest niece, telling him the sad news, and
how things were with them, and asking him to come to them as soon as he
could.  He had answered the letter at once, and in his reply had done
his best to hearten them.  He had advised Elizabeth to see the
landlord, place the facts before him, and ask him if he would allow the
rent to be in abeyance until her uncle arrived.  The landlord had
consented, knowing the family so well, and so one great worry had for a
time been taken off Elizabeth's young shoulders.  She was not obliged
to remove at once, but they all knew that it was impossible to keep on
the farm, even had it been paying, and several evenings were passed by
the three girls in wondering what they could do so as not to be a
burden upon their uncle.  Mary had spoken of teaching, but there would
be no money to pay for the necessary training, so that idea had to be
given up.  Tommy had a new idea about every other day as to what she'd
do in order to make the family fortune.  One day she burnt three of the
saucepans, scalded herself rather badly, and made everything around her
"sticky," by trying to invent a new kind of jam.  Another day she
concocted the Westmacott Cure for sick headache, and insisted upon her
sisters tasting the "awful mixture," which she assured them was
harmless, and was quite annoyed when Elizabeth and Mary advised her not
to invent anything else for a few years.

So the days went on, the girls busying themselves about the farm and
longing eagerly for the return of the only relation they had in the
world.  Captain Barton had given them the probable date of his arrival
at Plymouth, but when the expected day came and passed without any
further news from him, they had all become more and more anxious and
alarmed, wondering if his vessel had gone down with all hands and left
no trace of her whereabouts.  Hence Tommy's excitement and delight, and
Elizabeth and Mary's quiet joy, on hearing that their uncle was coming
to them at last.




CHAPTER II

UNCLE BEN

During the next three days the girls were restless with excitement.
Uncle Ben would, they were sure, send them a telegram as soon as he
reached Plymouth, and one or another of them was constantly on the
look-out for the messenger from the little village postoffice.  They
turned out the spare bedroom, and had a grand clean-up; hung fresh
curtains, aired mattress and bedclothes, and made things shipshape, as
he would say, in anticipation of Uncle Ben's arrival.  On the third day
the girl at the post-office rode up on her bicycle with the little
brown envelope.  Tommy flew to meet her, and in another moment was
running back to the house crying, "Coming to-morrow!  To-morrow!" at
the top of her voice.

Of course they drove down to the station next day fully an hour before
the train was due.  Tommy beguiled the time by weighing her sisters and
herself on the station weighing-machine, looked in at the
booking-office, ran to the signal-box and asked to be allowed to work
the levers, and in other ways acted up to her reputation.

At last the train was signalled.  The three girls looked eagerly down
the line.  Presently the engine rounded the curve nearly half-a-mile
away, and as the train rumbled along the straight line towards the
station, a red bandana handkerchief was seen vigorously waving at the
window of a compartment in the centre.

"There he is!" cried Tommy, dancing with excitement, and waving her
handkerchief in return.

"Stand back, miss," called the station-master, as she stepped near the
edge of the platform.

"Oh, I shan't hurt your old engine," replied Tommy, who, nevertheless,
allowed her sisters to take a hand each until the train came to a
standstill.  Then she darted towards the compartment from which issued
a short, stoutish man, with a jolly, red face, short, close-trimmed
beard, and eyes ready to light up with fun at the slightest provocation.

Captain Benjamin Barton was a sailor of the good old-fashioned sort.
He had been to sea ever since he was thirteen, when he had run away to
Plymouth after an exchange of discourtesies with the classical master
at the Grammar School: he never could abide Latin.  During nearly fifty
years of life at sea he had saved a considerable sum, and had become
part owner of his vessel, besides having shares in several others.  He
still loyally stuck to the sailing ship; the steamship had no
attractions for him; and he was never tired of comparing the two, to
the great disadvantage of the more modern type.  Tommy once said that
he reminded her of the 'bus-driver behind whom she had sat when on her
only visit to London, who had spoken with the bitterest scorn of the
motor omnibus.  The captain's twinkling black eyes gleamed with fun
when Tommy assured him artlessly that the 'busman was "just such a dear
old stick-in-the-mud" as he was.  Tommy sprang into his arms as he got
out of the railway carriage.  He gradually extricated himself from her
embrace, and turning to his elder nieces, silently kissed them.  In
spite of a brave attempt at cheerfulness his eyes were rather dim as he
mumbled a word of greeting.  He had always been on the best of terms
with their father, and, when he was ashore, had been accustomed to make
the farm his headquarters.  The loss of his brother-in-law had come as
a great shock to him; and the remembrance of it, together with the
meeting with the three fatherless girls, almost unmanned him for the
moment.  The red bandana handkerchief came into play again; he blew his
nose furiously, declared that railway travelling always gave him a
cold, and turning on Dan Whiddon, the small porter, who was staggering
under a trunk he had taken from the compartment, he cried--

"Now, young Samson, don't be too rough with that little contraption of
mine."

The aggrieved look on Dan's face set them laughing, and the tension was
relieved.  They passed out of the station, and came to the little farm
wagonette.  Tommy was usually driver, but as there was only room for
one on the driver's seat, and she declared that she was going to sit
with Uncle, Elizabeth good-naturedly offered to take the reins.  When
the Captain, the other girls, and the trunk were packed in behind, it
was a tight squeeze, and Dan Whiddon, rejoicing in twopence, surveyed
the pony doubtfully.

"You'm better get out and walk up t' hill," he suggested, with the
familiarity of an old friend.

"Be off and buy your sweeties, Samson," said the Captain, "or we'll
hitch you on as leader."  And laughing at his own jest, Uncle Ben
squeezed Mary with his right arm, and Tommy with his left, and called
to Elizabeth to get under way.

There was little talking on the homeward drive.  The younger girls were
quite happy nestling against their uncle; and he was thinking of his
many former home-comings.  But when he entered the bright farm parlour,
and saw the spread tea-table, and the blazing fire which Mrs. Pratt had
kindled--then his jolly weather-worn face glowed, and he cried, in the
same words he had used a score of times before--

"East or west, home is best.  How do, Jane?"

"Nicely, thank'ee sir," returned Mrs. Pratt, with a bob, "except for my
poor feet."

The girls smiled.  They had heard the same question and answer ever
since they could remember, when Uncle Ben came home.  Tommy meanwhile
had removed his hat, Mary had slyly stuffed his red handkerchief into
his pocket, and now Elizabeth gently pushed him down into his favourite
arm-chair.  Mrs. Pratt, who suffered from bunions, and hobbled about,
made the tea, while Mary toasted what was in that country place still
called a Sally Lunn, and Elizabeth fetched from the dairy, now very
bare and forlorn, a pot of cool delicious Devonshire cream.  During
these preparations Tommy was content to sit at her uncle's feet,
resting her head on his knees, and now and again giving his horny hand
a squeeze.

It was Tommy, however, who kept things lively at the tea-table.

"Now, Uncle," she would say, "you must have more cream in your tea, or
you'll be as nervous as a cat."

"Very well, my dear," was the meek reply.  "Afloat I drink it without
milk or cream, sea-cows not being tractable animals, you know; but when
in Rome, do as the rum 'uns do, eh?"

"That dreadful old pun of yours!  You expect us to punish you, don't
you now?"

"I'll be Punch to your Judy," returned the Captain, with a hearty
laugh, and for some minutes he alternately cracked his simple jokes and
devoted himself to his food.  "I always say there's nothing in foreign
parts to match the cakes and cream of Devonshire," he said, "and you'd
know it if you lived on ship's biscuit and salt horse, my girl."

"Where have you been this voyage, Uncle?" asked Mary.

"Peru and Monte Video, and other outlandish parts, my dear.  I was held
up in the Doldrums, and water was running plaguy short; 'water, water
everywhere, but not a drop to drink,' as that poetry fellow says.  One
more voyage, my girls, and then I drop anchor for good."

"We hoped you would stay with us," said Elizabeth.

"Couldn't do it, Bess," he replied.  "I can hold a straight course, but
I couldn't run a straight furrow for the life of me.  No; one more
voyage, to the South Pacific Islands this time, and then I'll take a
snug little cottage somewhere by the sea, and spend my days
whitewashing it, and getting worse-tempered every day, and you shall
keep house for me, and smooth me down."

And then Tommy put the usual question--it always came from Tommy.

"What adventures did you have this time, Uncle?"

Uncle Ben rubbed his chin, and assumed an air of deep reflection.

"Adventures!  Well, the only one worth speaking about," he said slowly,
"was when we were becalmed in latitude 35° South, longitude 152° East,
I think it was.  By the chart we should have been about a hundred and
fifty miles from the nearest land, but one morning Long Jimmy--the tall
fellow with one eye, you remember----?"

"Yes," said Tommy; "he helped me down the side last time I saw you off."

"Well, he was look-out at the time, and he sings out, 'Land-ho!'  I was
on deck in a twinkling, I can tell you; and there, a couple of points
on the starboard quarter, was a smallish kind of island, and stretching
away behind it a lot of little islands pretty near as far as you could
see.  The biggest was as large as Mount St. Michael, maybe, and all of
a white shiny rock.  I made a few remarks about the chart-makers, and
was thinking of putting out a boat to examine it, when, bless your
eyes! that island began to move, and all the little 'uns after it."

Here he drank half a cup of tea, and the girls waited breathlessly for
him to continue.

"Some one set up a cry of sea-serpent," he went on gravely, "and Sunny
Pat--the little Irishman, you remember---?"

"Yes, such a funny little man.  Go on, Uncle," said Tommy.

"Well, Sunny Pat calls out, 'Begorra, shure 'tis the way of openin' it
is!' and sure enough that big island showed a gash right across the
middle, that grew wider and wider, and each side of it there was a row
of teeth about as long as a church steeple.  Jupiter, 'twas a fearsome
sight.  But Sandy Sam--you remember him, the big red-headed
fellow--he's got more presence of mind than any able seaman I ever met.
He outs with a big gooseberry--we'd taken a few bushels on board at
Greenland--and flings it straight at the monster, knowing that
sea-serpents can't abide big gooseberries, being in the same line of
business, as you may say.  Well----"

Here the story was interrupted, for the girls made a simultaneous rush
on the old man.  Tommy pummelled him.  Mary put her hand over his
mouth, and Elizabeth took his half-eaten cake, and declared that he
should have no more until he confessed that he had been fibbing.

"You naughty wicked old man," cried Tommy, as he shook with laughter.
"Now you shan't have another cup of tea until you've turned out your
pockets."

"I give in," said the Captain.  "Three to one isn't fair play.  I've
had enough tea, only let me get my pipe alight and then we'll see."

As long as the girls could remember, their uncle, on his arrival, when
his first pipe was lit, had turned out his capacious pockets, in which
there was always a present of some kind for every one, besides oddments
unaddressed which his nieces appropriated at their fancy.  Settled in
the arm-chair, with a big calabash pipe in his mouth, he plunged his
hand into a pocket, and brought out the red bandana handkerchief.

"That's your flag," cried Tommy.  "Be quick!"

"Patience," he replied, producing a tin of tobacco and a knife.

"We'll let you keep them," said Mary.  "What next, Uncle?"

"Well, here's a small parcel with somebody's name on it, and it looks
uncommon like Mary."

Mary seized the parcel, opened it, and uttered a cry of delight as she
unfolded a pretty Indian scarf.

"Oh, you dear!" she cried, giving him a kiss.

He plunged his hand again into his pocket and drew out slowly and with
a solemn air that made the girls agog with expectation--a short cutty
pipe, at which they cried "Shame!"  Then came another small parcel,
marked with Elizabeth's name, which proved to contain a tortoiseshell
comb with silver mountings.  Another dip brought forth a bright round
silver case with a long cord hanging from a hole in the side.  Tommy
pounced on this.

"What is it, Uncle?" she asked.

"It's a contraption for getting a light in a wind, given me by an old
friend in Valparaiso," replied the Captain.  "'Twas kindly meant, to be
sure, but I've never used it, for I've never had any difficulty in
lighting my pipe in any wind that ever blew short of a typhoon, and
then a man has other things to think about.  I'll show you how it's
done, and you can keep it against the time when you're an old woman and
go round selling things from a caravan: old women of that sort always
smoke."

"The idea!" exclaimed Tommy, but when her uncle had shown her how to
obtain a spark by turning a little handle sharply, and how the spark
ignited the cord, she took the thing and slipped it into her pocket.

Then at last came the parcel for which Tommy had been eagerly waiting,
and she gave a long sigh of pleasure as she drew through her fingers a
scarf of exquisite fineness like Mary's.

"You're a darling!" she cried, giving her uncle a tight hug, and at the
same time knocking his pipe from his mouth.  "Oh, I'm so sorry," she
said contritely.  "Never mind, I'll fill it again for you."

Captain Barton took from his pockets sundry other articles which he
divided among the girls, as well as a queer assortment of his personal
belongings.  When all his pockets were empty, Tommy said--

"Now you can put all that rubbish back; see what a litter it makes!"

"For what you don't want, I return humble and hearty thanks," said the
Captain, using a form of words which they had heard from his lips ever
since they were babies.  "And now if you can think of anything but
fal-lals, we'll settle down and have a cosy talk about things.  Draw
your chairs up to the fire, girls."




CHAPTER III

LEAVING HOME

Uncle Ben listened attentively as Elizabeth gave an account of affairs
at the farm.  He did not interrupt her, but now and then muttered an
ejaculation through a cloud of smoke.  Elizabeth was clear-headed, and
did not take long to explain the position to her uncle.  It was
impossible to keep on the farm without capital, and the Captain, though
he had a good sum laid by, was not the man to risk his money in a
business of which he knew nothing.  So the farm must be sold, and it
was clear that when everything was settled up, there would be little or
nothing left for the girls to live on.  They mentioned the ideas they
had had of earning their living, and the obstacles in the way; and
Captain Barton puffed at his pipe, and pulled his beard, and every now
and then stroked Tommy's hair as she leant against his knee.

"Hum!" he grunted, when all had said their say.  "There's only one way
out of the difficulty that I can see."

He paused impressively, and the girls looked at him with expectation.

"And that is," he went on, weighing each word, "to get you spliced."

"Spliced!" cried Tommy.  "Married, you mean?  Me married!"

"Well, not you, perhaps--not yet a bit, seeing you are only a little
tomboy sort of thing----"

"Thing! how dare you!" cried Tommy, pummelling her uncle's leg.

"I meant a thing of beauty, my dear," said he meekly, "which, as the
poet says, is a joy for ever."

"He wouldn't think me a joy for long, I can tell you," returned Tommy.
"But, really, it's too ridiculous.  Bess, you don't want to get
married?"

"Not for a living, certainly," said Elizabeth.

"Of course not," added Mary.

"Well, that's squashed," cried Tommy, "and if you can't think of
anything better, Captain Barton--why, you're not married yourself!"

"No, my dear, I've never tried," replied her uncle apologetically.
"Well, now, there's that notion I mentioned a while ago--a little
cottage by the sea, you know; we four--me and the three Graces, eh?"

"It would be simply awful, Uncle," cried Tommy.  "Whatever should we do
all day?  We should all become perfect cats, and you'd have a simply
horrid time.  No, if you want us to live with you, you must take a
house somewhere where we could work--earn our salt, you know.  I'm not
going to be a burden to anybody."

"That's a fine spirit, to be sure.  Then it must be London, I suppose,
Deptford way or Rotherhithe; one of you could keep house for me, and
the others could go to classes, and learn teaching or whatever it is
you want to do.  What do you think of that, now?"

"I should love to keep house for you, Uncle," said Elizabeth.

"And Mary and I would love to do the other thing, wouldn't we, Mary?"
cried Tommy.  "So it's settled, and you'd better advertise for a house
at once, Uncle."

"Steady, my dear.  As I told you, I must make one more voyage.  I've a
heap of things to settle up in various parts, and it'll be at least a
year before I'm ready.  The question is, what can you do for a year?
You can't remain here, and I'm not going to set you up in London
without me to look after you."

"Why not?  We'd look after each other," said Tommy.

"Couldn't think of it, my dear," said the Captain decisively.  "It's a
facer, that's the truth."

"I know what!" cried Tommy, suddenly starting up.  "Take us with you!"

"What?" gasped her uncle.

"I mean it.  Let's all go for a voyage.  I'd love to go round the
world."

"Nonsense!  A parcel of girls in my windjammer with their frills and
furbelows--I never heard of such a thing!  Ridiculous!  Entirely out of
the question!"

"Why?  I don't see it," persisted Tommy.  "Now, Captain Barton, don't
be a stick-in-the-mud, but give us reasons."

"My dear, it can't be done," said the Captain emphatically.

"Of course it can't, you haven't got any," said Tommy, wilfully
misunderstanding him.  "Just like a man!"

"We should really like it, Uncle," said Elizabeth.

"Can't be done, Bess," he repeated.

"But why, Uncle?" asked Mary.

"Because--because--well, for one thing I don't carry a stewardess."

"Oh, you funny old man!  Bess could be stewardess.  Another reason,
please."

"There's no cabin fit for young ladies.  It's a hard life on board,
and----"

"No reason at all," interrupted Tommy.  "We must learn to rough it, now
that we've got to make our way in the world.  Besides, sea-air is good;
it will establish our constitutions, as the doctors say.  Say yes,
Uncle, there's a dear!"

"Well, well, I'll sleep on it," said the Captain, temporizing.  He was
really much perplexed and troubled.  The suggestion was a preposterous
one, to his old-fashioned way of thinking; but he could not find
reasons that would convince these very modern nieces of his, and he
hoped that they would drop the wild notion before the morning.

But when the girls had gone to bed, and he sat alone, smoking his final
pipe, he had to confess to himself that Tommy's proposal was the
simplest solution of the difficulty.  It would not be an easy matter to
find comfortable quarters for the girls, but it was not impossible.
Their society would be very pleasant on board; he would love to have
them with him: in short, he decided to give way.  So the next morning,
when they rushed at him as he entered the breakfast-room, with cries of
"Uncle dear, do take us," he replied, with a mild reluctance--

"Well, well, you might do worse."

Whereupon Tommy kissed him and hugged him, calling him "Dear old
Nunky," and went nearly wild with joy.

"But, mind you," he said warningly, "you mustn't expect much in the way
of comfort.  The _Elizabeth_ isn't the _Lusitania_, you know.  She's as
tight a little craft as ever sailed the seas, but she wasn't built for
first-class passengers.  You'll have to manage with a tiny cabin for
all three.  And I give you fair notice: I keep strict discipline
aboard.  The slightest insubordination will be punished."

"And how do you punish on board ship?" asked Tommy mischievously.

"First, bread and water for a week.  For the second offence, you'll be
laid in irons in the hold, where you'll have no company but the rats,
and they're uncommon hungry beasts, I can tell you."

"How lovely!  Just like the prisoners in wicked barons' castles in the
olden times," cried Tommy.  "Oh, you dear silly old thing, did you
think you would frighten us?"  And she gave him a hug that made him cry
for mercy.

"Now, girls, to business," he said, when order was restored.  "This is
Wednesday.  I must run up to London to-morrow to see my lawyers, so
that if anything happens to me you won't be quite unprovided for.
Remember, Bess, they're Wilkins and Short, of Bedford Row.  Not that
there isn't plenty of life in the old sea-dog yet, and I hope you won't
have to see them for many a day.  Now, as to clothes; no fal-lals, you
know; two serge dresses apiece, and one box for the lot of you.  I
don't suppose you bargained for that."

"We shouldn't think of bringing matinée hats," said Elizabeth, laughing.

"Anything you want to keep, out of the things here, you must pack up.
I dare say one of the neighbours will store it for you.  I'll arrange
about selling the rest.  I'll see your landlord to-day.  You will only
have about a fortnight to get ready, so you'd better begin at once."

"Let's go and see Mrs. Morris," said Mary.  "She'll keep our things for
us."

"Won't she be surprised!" cried Tommy.  "And what fun we shall have!"

The girls found their neighbour, Mrs. Morris, in the midst of her
weekly baking.  She declared afterwards that the surprise their news
gave her nearly "turned" the bread.  She readily agreed to store their
little stock of personal possessions, but shook her head at the idea of
girls wandering in heathen parts, as she put it.

Elizabeth asked her to accompany them to Plymouth and assist them in
buying their outfit.  This gave great delight to the kind motherly
soul.  She left her farm but seldom; a trip to Plymouth was a notable
event in her life; and when she returned with the girls, after a happy
day's shopping, the spirit of adventure had so worked upon her that she
cried, "Well, now, I wish I was going too, that I do."

Imagine the bustle and excitement of the next few days!  Uncle Ben was
in London.  In his absence the girls worked hard at their preparations.
They got a sewing-maid from the village, and all four worked early and
late cutting out and making two sets of blouses, one for ordinary use,
and the other for any very hot weather they might encounter on the
voyage.  Even Tommy, not usually an industrious young person in such
matters, did her fair share, though it was a great trial of patience to
have to finish the overcasting of all the seams before Elizabeth would
lay them aside ready for packing.

Everything was complete before Uncle Ben's return.  The girls had
finished their outfit and packed it away neatly in their new cabin
trunk.  Their treasures were also packed ready to be handed into Mrs.
Morris's keeping.  A few pieces of furniture which Elizabeth could not
bear to part with had been warehoused at Plymouth.  The remainder,
together with the farm stock, was to be sold after their departure.
Tommy was very woebegone at the idea of selling her pony, and when Joe
Morris offered to keep him for her, and give him his food in exchange
for his services (that was his thoughtful and pleasant way of putting
it), she hugged the burly farmer and called him a dear old man.

At last Uncle Ben returned.  The last arrangements were made, the last
adieus said, and one fine day the little party of four drove to the
station to take train to Southampton, where the barque _Elizabeth_ was
refitting.  The girls waved their handkerchiefs gaily in response to
the parting salutations of the villagers; but they fell very silent
when their old friends were out of sight, and the Captain, looking
straight before him, heard a sob or two on each side and behind.  Like
a wise man, he said nothing about the sadness of leaving the old home,
but related some of his recent experiences in London.

"I met a fine old friend of mine, a missionary," he said.  "He is
stationed on one of the South Sea Islands, and hasn't been home for
twenty years.  A real good sort is Henry Corke.  He has only been home
a month, and yet he is going out almost at once.  There's devotion for
you, girls.  I asked him if he'd like to come with us, offered him the
attractions of refined female society----"

"That was enough to choke him off," interrupted Tommy.  "I hate to be
called a female."

"Well, perhaps it was a mistake not to say tomboy.  Anyhow, Corke was
in too much of a hurry to come with us; prefers one of those dirty
clanking steamers.  Mighty poor taste, I call it."

By the time they reached the station the girls had thrown off their
despondency, and began to glow with excitement as they realized that
they were actually entering upon a new life.




CHAPTER IV

ABOARD THE "ELIZABETH"

"Here we are!" cried Captain Barton, as the train ran into the dock
station at Southampton.  "Now mind you don't get run over."

"The idea!" said Tommy; "we have been here before, Uncle."

"So you have, my dear, but good advice is none the worse for being said
twice."

They made their way across the metals, on which locomotives were
hauling and pushing heavy goods wagons, and came to the quay where the
_Elizabeth_ lay taking in cargo.  She looked a mere dwarf beside a
Castle Liner not far away; but she was bright with the glory of new
paint, and Captain Barton gazed at her with an affectionate pride that
he would never have felt for a steamship.  They went on board.  Mr.
Purvis, the Scots mate, gave the girls a shy greeting.  They smiled at
those of the crew whom they recognized, and a look of pained
bewilderment settled on the face of one, Sandy Sam, when Tommy asked
him if he had any more big gooseberries.

"Never mention the word to him," said the Captain anxiously, as they
went below; "he's very sensitive, my dear."

"Ah! you're afraid your stories will be found out, you know you are,"
replied Tommy.  "Oh! what a sweet little cabin."

The Captain had thrown open the door of the cabin which he had prepared
for his nieces, next to the saloon.  The girls looked in eagerly.

"How very nice!" said Elizabeth.

"I'm glad you like it, my dear," said the Captain.  "I did my best, and
Purvis was uncommon useful, too."

"A woman couldn't have managed better," said Mary.

"Well, you see, bachelor men like me and Purvis get into the way of
making up for what we lose.  We nearly forgot the looking-glass,
though, not having any particular features ourselves to be proud of."

The cabin was very daintily got up.  The woodwork was beautifully
polished.  There were two bunks on one side, one above the other, and a
third on the opposite side, each with a spotless white bed-cover.  On
one wall hung a looking-glass; and a tiny wash-hand basin of polished
zinc was fitted into a little alcove.  There were hooks for hanging
clothes on the partition.  The clear space between the sides was only
two or three feet across.

"Where shall we put our trunk?" asked Elizabeth practically.

"In the saloon, my dear," replied her uncle.  "We'll fasten it there,
to prevent it rolling about if we meet any rough weather."

"We shall have to get up one at a time," said Tommy, with a laugh.
"There isn't room for two to do up their hair at once."

"Well, I know nothing about that," said the Captain, rubbing his bald
crown.  "You mustn't quarrel or fight about who shall be first, or I'll
have to clap you in irons."

"Where do you keep your irons?" asked Tommy.  "I'd like to see the
dreadful things."

The Captain looked so much embarrassed that Tommy divined the truth at
once.

"Why, you haven't got any," she cried, dancing.  "What a naughty old
fibber you are!"

"Well, you see, I pick my crew.  Them that aren't English are Scotch or
Irish, and very respectable men.  But I dare say we can get a set of
irons in the town.  Come along, we'll go and get something to eat;
we're too busy to cook on board.  I'll just drop in at one of the
marine stores and see if they've got a small size of irons for
obstreperous females."

As they walked up the High Street Tommy suddenly cried--

"Look, Bess, isn't that little Dan Whiddon?  I wondered why he wasn't
at the station to wish us good-bye."

She pointed up the street, where she had seen a small oddly-dressed
figure pass under the narrow ancient arch that divides the street into
Above and Below Bar.  They hurried in that direction, but when they
reached the spot the figure had disappeared.

"I think you must have been mistaken," said Mary.  "Dan wouldn't come
so far from home."

"I dare say.  Now, Uncle, where shall we go?  I'm famished."

The Captain led them to the Crown Hotel.  He confessed that if he had
been alone he would have gone to a humbler place near the docks, where
he might meet some shipmates.

"But you girls wouldn't like to eat among half-a-dozen sea-dogs smoking
shag," he said.

As they ate their luncheon he said that he was disappointed with his
cargo.  He had hoped to have a full ship for the South American ports,
but feared that after all he would have to go out light.  Tommy's
assurance that his passengers would make up did not appear to convince
him.

They slept on board that night, and were very merry at the novel
experience of undressing and dressing in such a narrow space.  Early
next morning the ship was towed out into the harbour.  She had hardly
made a cable's length, however, when the Captain received a message
semaphored from the quay to the effect that his agent had secured
enough goods to complete his freight.  It would not be ready for
shipment for two days.  He did not think it worth while to put back
into dock, as the extra cargo could be brought out in lighters.

During the next two days the girls were much amused to see their uncle
in his little dinghy, which held three at a squeeze, going to and fro
between the ship and the shore, propelling himself by means of one oar
fixed in a groove at the stern.  Nothing would satisfy them until he
allowed one of the sailors, usually Sunny Pat, to take them in turn and
teach them how to work the little tub in this manner.  Finding it very
easy Tommy begged the Captain to let her take him ashore, and was
delighted when he told her on landing that she would make a skipper in
no time.  She immediately bought a huge sailor's knife, much to his
amusement.  Her sisters, not to be outdone, in their turn rowed him
ashore, and each also bought a knife.

"You'd be terrible folk in a mutiny," said the Captain, laughing.  "I
really must see about getting those irons."

But when the vessel's hold was filled from the lighters, and the cargo
was complete, there were no irons among the equipment.  The _Elizabeth_
was towed down Southampton Water; then, the wind being fair, the
courses were set, and she was soon sailing merrily down Channel.  The
girls were in the highest spirits.  It was a glorious day.  The sea
glistened in the sunlight, and as the vessel passed through the Solent,
with the wooded shores of Hampshire on the right, and the Island on the
left, the Captain pointed out to his nieces various landmarks and
interesting spots, and gave them a first lesson in navigation.  In
three or four hours they passed the Needles.

"Now, girls," said the Captain, "my advice is, keep fairly quiet for a
little.  There's a bit of a swell, and--well, I say no more."

Elizabeth and Mary remained reclining in their deck-chairs, quietly
enjoying their novel experiences.  But Tommy was as nimble as Ariel on
the vessel of the Duke of Milan.  She was here, there and everywhere,
asking why this and what the other; now exclaiming at a warship that
glided silently past, now watching a graceful white-sailed yacht; at
one moment standing by the helmsman, then flashing along the deck to
ask her uncle for an explanation of something that had caught her
attention.  The Captain watched her with kindly amusement.  He did not
repeat his warning.  "The lass had better get it over," he thought.
Presently his amusement became mixed with a little anxiety as he saw
her growing quieter, and a tinge of green coming into her complexion.
At last with a sudden cry of "Oh!" she rushed to the companion and
disappeared.  The other girls followed her anxiously, and for a time
they were seen no more.  Thanks to the steadiness of the ship, and the
comparative smoothness of the sea, their sufferings were neither
violent nor prolonged; but it was a much-subdued Tommy who emerged an
hour or two later and meekly put her hand into her uncle's.

The next moment she gave a gasp.  Not a yard away, lying on a pile of
canvas, huddled a little figure in brown corduroys and clumping boots.
It was Dan Whiddon, pale, grimy, with tear-stained eyes, fast asleep.

[Illustration: "LYING ON A PILE OF CANVAS HUDDLED A LITTLE FIGURE."]

"There's a young Samson for you!" said the Captain, noticing Tommy's
look of amazement.  "A young rascal of a stowaway.  Long Jimmy heard a
tapping in the forehold a while ago, and when the men opened up--a
nuisance when all the cargo was nattily stowed--there was this young
reprobate, half dead with hunger and fright.  You've a deal to answer
for, Tommy."

"Why, what have I done?" asked the girl.

"Well, you and your sisters seem to have spoiled the young scamp.  When
they brought him up from below he whimpered out that the young ladies
had been kind to him, and he didn't like carrying luggage and cleaning
railway lamps, and when he heard that you were coming to sea he wanted
his mother to get me to take him as a cabin-boy.  She boxed his ears.
But he found out when you were leaving, and hid in a goods wagon that
reached Southampton a little before we did, and watched his opportunity
to slip on board when the barque was lying at the quay-side.  That's
all I got out of him; and the motion served him as it serves most
landsmen, and he dropped asleep just where you see him there.  I'll
have something to say to him when he wakes."

"Poor little fellow!" said Tommy.  "You won't be hard on him, Uncle?"

The Captain grunted.  Perhaps he remembered that fifty years before he
had himself run away to sea.

"A rascally young stowaway," he muttered.  "I can't put him ashore, as
I shan't touch at any port this side of Buenos Ayres.  And his mother
crying her eyes out, I'll be bound.  And I'll have to spend several
shillings on a cable to tell her he's safe.  A pretty thing for a man
with three nieces."

"I'll pay for the cable, Uncle."

"What! has she damaged the cable?" asked Mary innocently, coming up at
this moment.

Captain Barton shook with laughter.

"Oh, you bookworms!" he said, when he had command of his breath.  "Take
a look at the cable, Mary, and see if you think Tommy, for all her
mischievousness, could do it much damage.  No, 'tis another kind of
cable we were speaking of--all along of young Samson there.  What would
you do with a stowaway, Bess?" he asked of his eldest niece, who had
just joined the others.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "you were right after all, Tommy.
What a little sweep he looks!"

At this moment Dan stirred, opened his eyes, and when he saw the girls
smiled sheepishly.

"Now, young Samson, stand up and listen to me," said the Captain
severely.  "Lay a hold of that stay there if you can't stand steady.
You come sneaking aboard this vessel, ruining my cargo, expecting to
fill yourself with my victuals, and all for what?  Because you didn't
like cleaning lamps and carrying luggage.  What's that for a reason?
There's worse than that aboard ship, I can tell you.  If I did my duty,
I should have you lashed to the mast and dosed with the cat.  And your
poor mother crying her eyes out, and the police dragging the ponds, and
the Government sending detectives to all parts, and wiring to all the
recruiting sergeants, spending hundreds of pounds of the country's
money all for a discontented young shaver not four feet high.  Now just
you run along to Mr. Purvis and ask him to forgive you.  He's very
strict is Mr. Purvis, much stricter than I am; and then ask Sandy Sam
very politely to fling a few buckets of water over you and scrub you
with holystone; and after that go to Cook and ask him if he can spare a
biscuit and a can of soup; and then I'll see if I can find some clothes
that will fit you, and we'll make a man of you, and an A.B. in time."

The Captain's tone grew less stern and more genial as he went along,
and when he had finished Dan smiled cheerfully, gave Tommy an extra
smile, and went aft to obey orders.

The run down Channel was very pleasant to the girls.  They showed the
keenest interest in the ship and the doings of the sailors.  These
rough, good-tempered fellows were flattered by the attentions of their
passengers, and never tired of answering their questions.  It was not
long before all three were able to tie all kinds of sailors' knots,
splice ropes, and do other simple things of the kind.  They knew the
names of the sails and the yards, and Tommy in particular never tired
of airing her nautical vocabulary.

Even the ship's cook became their willing slave.  Elizabeth took him in
hand, and he meekly received her instructions, with great advantage to
his bill of fare.  Captain Barton declared that it was a good job he
was retiring, for this unwonted luxury was killing his seaman's
qualities.

The evenings were spent in the little deck cabin, where they played at
draughts with the Captain and mate, or listened to the yarns they spun.
Mary had brought her mandoline, and on fine evenings they would get up
a concert, the sailors singing their chanties and dancing the hornpipe.
The Captain hunted up some ancient grass hammocks, and when the weather
was quite calm the sailors rigged these up on deck for the girls.  Some
of the crew taught them how to make hammocks, using string instead of
grass, and they often amused themselves by weaving string bags and
baskets.

As for Dan Whiddon, he soon became the pet of the ship.  He was a
good-tempered little fellow, willing to oblige anybody.  He was kept
always busy, and it was not long before he found that the life of a
sailor was a good deal harder even than that of a porter at a wayside
station.

"But I likes it, I do," he said once to Tommy, "better'n cleaning lamps
and such."

"You get no tips, Dan," she replied.

"What's tips!" he said.  "I never had no good of 'em, miss.  Mother
took them all except a penny now and then for sweets, and the Captain
he gives me sweets for nothing, he do, and so I save, don't I, miss?"

The weather held fair almost without interruption, and the girls became
so well seasoned that an occasional gale did not distress them.  As
they approached the tropics the heat became rather trying, and then
they brought out of their trunk sundry light blouses at which their
uncle cocked an eye.

"Rank disobedience!" he said sternly.  "I said serge."

"Don't they look nice, Uncle?" said Tommy mischievously, "and we made
them ourselves.  You can't object to that, my dear man, and we shall
wash them ourselves, so there's no laundry bill for you to pay.  In
fact, you haven't a leg to stand on, so you had better say at once they
look sweet and save time.  Don't you think so, Mr. Purvis?"

"Weel," said the Scotsman cautiously, "I wouldna say but what they are
suitable to the climate, but they're terrible gay like."

"Oh, you should see Bess's evening frock.  It's perfectly
lovely--chiffon, with pink insertion; it suits her dark hair
splendidly."

"There, Tommy, that'll do," said the Captain; "such talk isn't suitable
aboard this vessel.  You're unruly minxes, and what I'll do with you in
London I don't know."

"You'll soon get used to it, Uncle dear, and I really wouldn't worry if
I were you.  We'll keep you straight."

"A happy girl, Purvis," said the Captain, when they were alone.

"Ou, ay, she is that."

They spent a couple of days in Buenos Ayres while Captain Barton was
unloading part of his cargo and settling his affairs.  When they left,
a certain young electrical engineer asked to be allowed to call on them
when he returned to England, and looked very crestfallen when Elizabeth
told him that they had no address.  They were almost disappointed when
they rounded the terrible Cape Horn without encountering a storm.
After a short stay at Valparaiso, the Captain set his course direct for
the Pacific Islands.  Interested as the girls had been hitherto, they
became intensely excited now.  Mary knew a great deal about Captain
Cook and other early navigators, and all the girls had read a volume of
Stevenson's on the South Seas, which their uncle had brought home once
in a colonial edition.  The romance of this quarter of the globe had
captured their imagination, and they looked eagerly forward to seeing
the strange men and women, the gorgeous scenery, the many novel things
which their reading and their uncle's stories had led them to expect.




CHAPTER V

A MIDNIGHT WRECK

"Well, now, I'm real glad I brought you girls with me," said Captain
Barton, as they sat on deck one evening.  "Many's the time I've felt a
bit lonesome at night between sunset and turning in, but you do help to
pass the time away."

"Pastimes, are we?" said Tommy, with affected indignation.  "Toys!
Dolls!  I won't be called a doll."

"Very well, my dear, you shan't," replied her uncle, slipping one arm
round her waist, and the other round Mary's.  Elizabeth sat on her
deck-chair opposite them, knitting the second of a pair of socks.
"But, now," continued the Captain, "you'd better be turning in.  'Tis
latish, and sleep, you know, 'it is a precious thing, beloved from pole
to pole'; and if you don't get your full eight hours you'll be neither
useful nor ornamental, Miss Tommy."

"Oh, Uncle!  It's such a lovely night," pleaded Tommy, leaning back on
his arm, and looking up into the brilliant sky--a sky such as is seen
in the South Pacific, and nowhere else in the world.

Here a heavy figure approached the group from forward.

"Glass is dropping fast, sir," said Mr. Purvis.

Elizabeth's needles ceased clicking.

"That means a storm, doesn't it, Uncle?" she said.

"A bit of a blow, maybe," said the Captain.  "Now, girls, off with you.
I'll just make things snug.  You go below, and sleep through it, and
you'll come up fresh as paint in the morning."

Tommy grumbled a little, declaring that a storm was impossible with
such a clear sky and no wind; but she went below with her sisters, and
soon all three were fast asleep in their snug little cabin.

It was perhaps two hours later when Elizabeth awoke suddenly.  There
were strange noises overhead, and the ship was rolling and pitching
with a violence new to her.  Every now and then she heard a hoarse
shout, and a scurry of feet on deck.  The little appointments of the
cabin rattled, and presently, as the vessel gave a particularly heavy
lurch, the glass water-bottle slipped from its rack, and fell with a
crash to the floor.

"What is it?" cried Tommy, sitting straight up in her bunk.

"The sea is rather rough," said Elizabeth quietly, "and has sent the
water-bottle spinning."

"It woke me with a start," said Tommy.  "My heart is thumping like
anything.  Is there any danger?"

"Not with Uncle on board," said Mary from the bunk below.  "Let's go to
sleep again."

They lay down, but to sleep was impossible.  Every moment the movements
of the vessel became more violent, and they heard great booming noises
as the waves broke over the deck.  The roar and shriek of the wind was
mingled with the creaking of blocks and the shouts of men.

"I can't stand it any longer," said Tommy suddenly.  "I'm going up to
see.  Come along, girls."  She sprang out of her bunk and had to clutch
the side to prevent herself from being thrown down.  The other girls
followed her, and she laughed as they staggered and clasped each other.

"What fun!" she said.  "We haven't had a real storm before.  See who'll
be dressed first.  You two needn't do up your hair."

Dressing was a difficult matter; but, helping one another, they managed
to get their things on at last and, holding hands, staggered out of the
cabin to the companionway between it and the saloon.  Tommy was the
first to climb the ladder, but when she came to the top she gave a cry
of dismay.

"The hatch is on!" she called.  "Uncle has battened us down, mean old
thing!"

She beat on the hatch with her fist, and called shrilly for her uncle;
but the sounds were smothered by the greater noises above, and by and
by she desisted, and tottered disconsolately down the steps.  "Let's go
into the saloon," she said.  "There's more room there than in the
cabin.  You don't think there's any danger?" she added, as the light of
the swinging lamp fell on Elizabeth's pale face.

"I don't know; I hope not," replied Elizabeth.

"It's a shame to batten us down," said Tommy indignantly.  "I'd rather
be on deck and know the worst."

The three girls went into the saloon, and sat huddled together on a
sofa, which was fixed firmly to the wall.  They found that only by
keeping a tight grip on the sofa, and each other, could they save
themselves from being dashed across the room.  Moment by moment the
storm increased in fury.  Now and again there was a tremendous shock,
under which the _Elizabeth_ quivered in every plank, and sometimes a
sharp report as of woodwork wrenched away.

The girls were now thoroughly scared.  Pressed close together they
shivered as they heard these ominous noises.  None of them spoke, but
Tommy gave a little gasp whenever a more than usually heavy sea struck
the vessel, and Mary gulped down a lump that would keep rising in her
throat.

Hours passed.  Presently the movements of the vessel became less
violent, and at last Tommy gave a cry of delight as she heard the
battens being struck away from the hatch, and her uncle's voice as he
descended the ladder.

"Ah!  There you are, my dears," he said cheerily, as he entered the
saloon.  "I guessed these little tantrums would have wakened you."

"Is the storm over, Uncle?" asked Elizabeth.

"Pretty near.  He's giving a last kick or two.  We're very tired and
hungry on deck, and you girls can make us some coffee; I know you'd
like to make yourselves useful.  Cook can't be spared at this minute or
I wouldn't ask you."

"Of course we will," said Tommy, springing up.

"Is there much damage done, Uncle?" asked Mary.

"Damage!  Why, bless you, you can't fight without getting a bruise or
two, even if you win.  The craft's had a bit of knocking about, I won't
deny, but what could you expect?  Now make the coffee, there's good
lassies, and knock at the hatch when it's ready."

"You are not going to batten us down again?" cried Tommy.

"Well, you see, we don't want everything slopped about below, do we?
The coffee wouldn't be worth drinking if a sea washed into it just as
you were bringing it up.  Make it strong, mind, and plenty of sugar."

Captain Barton left them.  He had not thought it necessary to say that
the cook, who couldn't be spared to make the coffee, was working hard
at the pumps.  Nor that the vessel had lost its foremast, which in its
fall had carried away the boats on the leeward side.  While the ship
was staggering under this blow a heavy sea had struck her and stove in
the boats on the weather side.  Nor did the Captain mention that the
storm had driven him many leagues out of his course, and that he was
desperately anxious lest he should have come within the region of the
coral reefs.  Until daybreak he had no means of ascertaining his
whereabouts, and he concealed from his nieces the anxiety with which he
awaited the dawn.

He had paid his brief visit below merely to reassure the girls.  They
at once set about making the coffee--no easy task, for though the wind
had abated there was still a heavy sea.  At last it was ready, and
Tommy mounted the companion-way, carrying a canful.  It was some time
before her hammering on the hatch attracted attention, and when it was
lifted the can was taken from her by her uncle, who said "Thank'ee, my
lass.  Now go down again and have some breakfast; it will be light in
an hour or two."

"Can't we come up, Uncle?"

"Not yet, my dear; we must tidy up first, you know."

"Can't we help?" persisted Tommy.

But there was no answer.  Captain Barton had clapped on the hatch.

"Poor little lassies!" he said to himself.

The girls drank some coffee, and ate some biscuits, waiting impatiently
for their release.  It was no longer difficult to keep their seats; the
howling of the wind had ceased, and the noise above gradually
diminished, and the vessel steadied.  But now they were conscious of a
sound that they had not heard before.  It was like the clanking of a
steam-engine.

"I wonder what it is!" cried Tommy, springing up.  "Oh, I do so wish
Uncle would let us go up.  There's no danger now, surely."

But the Captain still remained above.  The clanking sound continued,
and slight noises were heard occasionally.  The weather became still
calmer, and the girls, when they had finished their simple breakfast,
began to doze.  Never since they left Southampton had their sleep been
broken, and they would have returned to their bunks had it not been so
near morning.  So they cuddled up together on the sofa, Elizabeth in
the middle and the other girls with their arms about her.

All at once there was a sudden jolt that set the tin cups flying from
the table, and made the girls spring up in alarm.  They were aware of a
strange, rasping, scraping sound.  Clutching one another, their
startled faces asked a mute question, to which, inexperienced as they
were, their instinct supplied a clear answer.  The ship had struck.

There were loud shouts from above, a renewal of the scurrying on deck,
then silence.  A minute or two after the girls heard the hatch removed,
and their uncle hurried down.  Even in the dim light of the smoky oil
lamp they saw how pale and haggard he looked.  They were too much
frightened to speak.

"Girls," he said quietly, "put on your macintoshes and anything warm
you have, and come on deck at once.  Don't wait for anything else."

He was gone.  The very calmness of his tone, the absence of his wonted
jocularity, struck them with a chill feeling of dread.  Silently, with
pale faces, the girls fetched wraps and macintoshes from their cabin
and hurriedly mounted the companion.  When they reached the wet and
slippery deck a terrible spectacle lay before them in the light of the
crescent moon, shining fitfully out through the scudding clouds.  The
foremast had snapped off at the height of a man.  The deck was strewn
with broken spars and a litter of torn sails and shattered rigging.  On
the lee side the davits were twisted and bent, and the boats had
disappeared.  On the weather side, the boats still swung on the ropes,
but were so battered that it was impossible to hope that they were
seaworthy.  Three or four men were loosing the lashings that secured
the little dinghy, others were bringing up provisions from the cook's
galley.  The monotonous _clank, clank_ of the pumps told how the rest
were engaged.

Close to the dinghy stood little Dan Whiddon, the cabin-boy, shivering
with cold and fear.

"Show a leg, now!" cried the Captain to the men who were busy with the
dinghy.  He turned to the girls, who stood near the companion, huddled
in speechless terror.  "You must get into the dinghy, my dears," he
said gravely; "we have struck a reef.  You can scull her, keep her
going gently and look out for a passing ship.  Don't be alarmed.  The
sea is smooth, you see.  We will make a raft and come after you as soon
as we can.  My poor old ship is done for."

"Oh! we can't leave you, Uncle," said Elizabeth, with quivering lips.

"No, we won't," cried Tommy, springing forward and clasping his arm.

"Now, my dears," replied the Captain with forced cheerfulness, "you
promised to obey orders, you know.  We can't save the ship.  Water is
pouring into her; the one chance is to get you safely afloat while we
make a raft.  You must go for my sake.  There must be land hereabouts;
you'll see it when the sun gets up, and I lay you won't be ashore an
hour before we join you.  Come along now, all's ready."

The Captain's firmness showed that further remonstrance was vain.  He
led them to the side where the dinghy had been lowered.  Elizabeth was
helped into it, and as she turned away, after embracing her uncle, she
heard the first mate say--

"D'ye think there's room for young Dan, sir?  He's no use to us."

The Captain hesitated for a moment.  Three was a full complement for
the little boat, and even the boy's light extra weight might be a
source of danger.  Mary, as she kissed her uncle, heard the boatswain
growl--

"You may as well drown the lot; the dinghy can't take more than three
nohow."

Then Tommy flung herself into her uncle's arms, and sobbed a good-bye.

"Now, my little lass," said he, "bear up.  Brave's the word.  There's
One above will look after you.  Good-bye?  Nonsense!  I'll see you
soon, never fear.  Now, steady--there you go--now, where's that boy?"

But Dan Whiddon, hearing the pessimistic boatswain's words, had slipped
away in the darkness.

The Captain called him, but he did not reappear.

"Well, perhaps it's as well," said the Captain.  "Now, girls, don't
tire yourselves out; lay by till daylight.  God bless you!"

Elizabeth silently took the sculls, the other two crouched in the
bottom of the boat, which drew slowly away from the ill-fated ship.
After a little Tommy sprang up.

"Stop rowing, Bess," she cried.  "It's no use going on in the dark.
Keep close to the ship, so that we can see Uncle when he puts off on
the raft."

Elizabeth rested on her oars.  There was reason in what Tommy had said.
For a time the girls could see the trembling masts of the ship in the
moonlight, and dark figures moving about the deck; but presently the
moon was obscured; some minutes passed before it again emerged from the
clouds; and then, when the girls looked for the _Elizabeth_, there was
not a trace of her to be seen.

The two younger girls were now sitting up in the boat, facing their
sister.  They looked with wild eyes into the darkness.  The same
terrible thought oppressed them all: had the barque gone down already?
Had there been time for the construction of a raft?  They dared not
speak, lest their spoken fears should overwhelm them.  Elizabeth
sculled now in this direction, now in that, in the hope that it was
merely distance that had removed the ship from sight.  Now and again
she rested on her oars and listened; but there was no sound in the
breathless stillness, and she dipped her oars again; inaction was
unbearable.  So the three miserable girls waited for the dawn.

It came at last with almost startling suddenness.  At one moment all
the sky was indigo with gleaming spots; the next, the myriad spangles
had disappeared, and the blue was covered with a curtain of grey.  But
daybreak did not bring with it the expected relief from suspense--a
light mist hung upon the surface of the sea--a tantalizing filmy screen
which the eye could not penetrate.  The boat floated idly; again the
girls eagerly strained their ears for sounds of voices, or creaking
tackle, or working oars; but they heard nothing except the slow
rippling of the sea against the side of the dinghy.

"Pull, Bess," cried Tommy frantically.  "We can't have come far.  Row
about; we must find the ship."

Elizabeth, though hope was dead within her, rowed this way and that,
but everywhere was the encircling mist; there was no sign of vessel,
raft or land.

"We had better wait until the sun is up," she said at last.  "It will
scatter the mist, and then we can at least see our way."

The air was growing warmer, with a damp clammy heat; but the girls
shivered as they sat silent in the gently rocking boat.  The grey mist
turned to a golden dust, and presently the sun burst through, putting
the thinning vapour to flight.  Now the girls eagerly scanned the
horizon as it widened, but neither hull nor sail stood out of the
immense tract of blue.  Tommy rose in the boat, to see if she could
then descry any dark patch upon the surface which might be a raft; but
there was nothing.  Her lips quivered as the meaning of this vast
blankness forced itself upon her mind.  For a few moments she stood
with her back to her sisters; then turning suddenly, she said, with a
laugh that was not very different from a sob--

"'There were three sailors of Bristol City.'  I say, how should I do
for the part of Little Billee?"

This sudden touch of comedy relieved the tension, as Tommy intended.
The other girls smiled feebly, and Tommy, saying to herself, "I must
talk, talk, or we shall all go mad," went on--

"Could I have a swim, do you think?"  She flung off her macintosh.
"It's getting hot."

"Oh, you mustn't think of it," said Mary; "these waters are full of
sharks."

"Well, then, let's have another breakfast.  What have they given us?"

While Elizabeth was examining the provisions placed in the boat Tommy
leant over the side and dashed handfuls of water over her face.

"There!  Now I feel better," she said.  "What is there, Bess?"

There were tins of biscuits, sardines, and condensed milk, a bottle of
coffee extract, three tin cups, a spirit lamp, a small tin kettle, a
tea-caddy half full, a small box of sugar, a large plum cake, some
boiled bacon, and two gallon jars containing water.

"I am not hungry at present," said Elizabeth.

"Neither am I, but one must do something," said Tommy; "a cup of water
and a slice of cake for me."

They all took a draught of water, but only Tommy made any pretence of
eating.

"Now, Bess," said Tommy as she gulped down her crumbs of cake, "we'll
take turns to row.  Uncle----"  Her voice broke; she cleared her throat
and continued--"Uncle said there must be land somewhere near, and he'll
think us awful slackers if he gets there first."

"We can't tell which way to go," said Mary.

"Of course we can't, but we must choose a direction and stick to it, or
we shall go round in a circle like a dog chasing its tail.

  'O' a' the airts the wind can blaw
  I dearly lo'e the West.'

Let's make for the west, and take our chance."

This suggestion was adopted.  Elizabeth admired her small sister's
pluck in being so determinedly cheerful.  They turned their faces to
the sun, and for some time rowed steadily westward, each girl taking a
spell at the oars.  But as the day grew older the heat became
intolerable and exertion painful, so they decided to rest until the
evening.  None of them any longer expected to see the raft, though none
confessed it; all they hoped for was to find land.  They were very much
cramped in the little boat, but none grumbled about the discomforts.
By and by it occurred to Elizabeth to rig up their macintoshes as a
sort of awning, supporting it on the oars and the boat-hook, and this
sheltered them from the worst effects of the sun.  They made another
spare meal in the afternoon, and when the sun was between south and
west they resumed their rowing.  So far there had not been a sign of
land; but Uncle Ben had certainly said that the ship had struck on a
reef, and where there were reefs dry land could hardly be far away.
This hope buoyed them up through the hot day.

The sun went down below the horizon with the suddenness general in the
Southern Ocean.  Once more darkness was upon them.  With the return of
night came a sense of forlornness and desolation of spirit.  They fell
silent, each brooding on the sad fate which had overtaken their uncle
and them.  The night was cold; enveloped in their wraps and macintoshes
they huddled together for warmth, letting the boat drift at the mercy
of the sea.  Their broken sleep on the previous night, and their
exertions and anxieties during the day, had told upon them, and after
some hours the two younger girls fell asleep.  Elizabeth dared not
surrender herself to slumber.  Who could tell what might happen?  As
the eldest, she felt a motherly responsibility for the others, though
she had to confess to herself how utterly helpless she was if danger
came.  She sat with her elbows on her knees, thinking, brooding.
Everything had happened so suddenly that she was only just beginning to
realize the immensity of the disaster.  A cockle-shell of a boat, that
would capsize if the sea were the least bit rough; the wide ocean all
around; three girls, healthy enough, but not inured to hardship; the
possibility of drifting for days or weeks, never touching land or
coming within the track of a ship; food dwindling day by day; the
horrors of thirst: these dreadful images flashed in turn upon
Elizabeth's mental vision and made her shudder.

"Why didn't we stay with Uncle?" she thought; and then the remembrance
of the dear old man, and their happy days on board, and her conviction
that the vessel had gone down before the raft could be made, smote
Elizabeth's heart with grief, and for the first time the tears rolled
down her cheeks, unchecked.

She wept till her head ached, and she felt dazed.  At last, utterly
worn out, she dozed into an uneasy and fitful sleep, still supporting
her head on her hands.  She woke every few minutes, blamed herself for
not keeping a better watch, then slumbered again.  She was startled
into wakefulness by the rays of the early morning sun.  Lifting herself
stiffly, and carefully, so as not to disturb the two girls at her feet,
she looked around, and was alarmed as she caught sight of a ring of
white within a few hundred yards of the starboard side of the boat.  At
the first glance she recognized the foam of breakers dashing over a
reef.

"Girls!" she cried, "wake up!  Quick!"  She released herself from them,
seized the sculls, and pulled energetically away from the threatened
danger.  Tommy threw off her macintosh and stood up in the boat.

"Land!" she cried.  "Look, Mary, beyond the breakers there.  Woods!
Oh!  I could scream for joy."

"Look out for a landing-place," said Elizabeth, as she rowed slowly
parallel with the reef.

"What if there are savages?" murmured Mary.

"Oh, we'll soothe their savage breasts," cried Tommy confidently.  "I
don't care if there are so long as my feet are on dry land again.  Can
you see the raft?"

There was no sign of a raft; nothing was in sight but the foam-swept
reef, the cliffs, and the dark background of woods behind.

A pull of half-a-mile brought the dinghy clear of the breakers, and the
girls saw the sea dashing up the face of the high weather-worn cliffs.
There appeared to be no beach, no possible landing-place.  Mary, the
bookworm of the family, began to fear that the land was only one of
those precipitous crags of which she had read, inaccessible from the
sea.  But in a few minutes they discerned to their joy a gap in the
cliffs, and a sandy cove that promised an easy landing-place.

To this Elizabeth turned the dinghy's head.  A shark glided by as they
neared the shore, but was almost unnoticed in their excitement.  Tommy
gave a cheer as the boat grated on the sand.  In a moment she was out;
her sisters followed more deliberately; then the three together,
exerting all their strength, dragged the boat toilsomely up the beach.

[Illustration: "THE THREE TOGETHER DRAGGED THE BOAT UP THE BEACH."]




CHAPTER VI

THE ISLAND BEAUTIFUL

Hot and panting from their exertions, the girls threw themselves down
on the sand, and for a time remembered nothing but their escape from
what had seemed certain death.  But presently Tommy sprang up, and,
shading her eyes against the sun's fierce glare, looked long and
anxiously seaward.  An irregular white line marked the reef, but beyond
that the ocean stretched out into the distance, without a spot upon its
glistening surface.  Her sisters joined her, and, with their arms
clasped about each other, they searched the horizon for the raft and
Uncle Ben.  None of them spoke: each was afraid to utter her foreboding
thought.

Then they turned and gazed at the green woodland that rose almost from
the brink of the sea.  It was a perfect day, and the land to which they
had come might well be a paradise of the South Seas such as they had
read about.  But they were too anxious to be aware of its beauties.
Mary caught Elizabeth by the arm.

"Are there people?" she said in a whisper.

"Savages, perhaps cannibals?" said Tommy, with a shiver.

They stood holding each other, afraid to stir.  Elizabeth for a moment
had a wild notion of dragging the boat down again, and putting to sea
in the hope of meeting Uncle Ben; dread of the unknown had possession
of her.  But she recognized that so to act would be foolish, and
crushing down her fears, she said quietly--

"I think we had better look about a little; perhaps Uncle has already
landed."

Hope springs up easily in young minds.

"Of course," said Tommy valiantly.  "Who's afraid!  I--no, you go
first, Bess, as you're the biggest.  I know; you take an oar, and Mary
another, and I'll take the boat-hook."

Thus armed, after making the boat secure, they took their way up the
strand, through a gap in the wooded cliffs that seemed to have been
carved out in some past time by a stream.  They walked slowly and
timidly, as if half expecting to find a savage lurking behind every
bush or tree.  But as they went on, and found no wild islanders to
molest them, they began to be more aware of the beauty of their
surroundings.  On either hand there was a riot of splendid vegetation.
Strange plants and trees, some bearing brilliant flowers, others
tempting fruits, grew in magnificent profusion, and birds gorgeous in
colour flitted from tree to tree.

Here were feathery palms, there a cluster of small trees like hazels;
all about, the ground was carpeted with masses of convolvulus and
creeping plants innumerable, and the air was heavy with mingled scents.

"What a lovely place!" said Mary.

"Not to us," said Tommy.  "We might as well be in a desert.  Oh, what's
that?  I saw something move."

She pointed to the right hand, and for a moment the girls held their
breath.  Then they laughed, but very nervously; the something was
nothing but a little animal, of what kind they knew not, that scuttled
away into the woodland.

They went on again, becoming less timid the farther they advanced, for
there was no sight or sound to alarm them.  They began to talk more
freely, but always in low tones.

"I suppose it _is_ an island," said Tommy.

"It must be," replied Mary.  "There is no other land until you get to
Australia, and that's thousands of miles away."

"Then what shall we do if we don't find Uncle?"

The question recalled to them all that had happened, and again they
felt the bitterness of misery and despair.

"We must keep up our spirits," said Elizabeth, trying to speak
cheerfully.  "At any rate we shan't starve if these fruits are good to
eat."

"I don't see any breadfruit," said Mary.

"Well, it looks as if we are to be Crusoes," said Tommy, "only Crusoe
was alone.  Goodness!  I couldn't bear to be alone.  I should go mad.
Do you think Uncle will find us, Bess?"

"I hope and trust he will, dear.  We are safe; why shouldn't he be?
Don't let's look on the black side of things.  Shall we go back to the
boat and eat some of the food we brought?  It won't keep like the
fruits.  Then we had better rest; I'm sure you are worn out; we can
look round again presently, when the sun isn't so hot."

They returned to the boat, and made a meal of some biscuit and cold
bacon, carving the bacon somewhat clumsily with their jackknives,
remembering how their uncle had laughed at them for buying such manlike
implements.

"I'm terribly thirsty," said Tommy.  "I wonder if the water in the
stream there is good to drink!"

She pointed to a brook that meandered down to the shore from amid the
woodland above, purling musically, and flashing like silver in the
sunlight.

"There's not much fear of that," said Mary.  "I'll get some while you
cut me another slice of bacon."

The water was delightfully fresh and cool, proving that there was a
spring somewhere in the interior.

Having made a heartier meal than any of them expected to make, they lay
down under the shade of a large tree, and talked until they fell asleep
from sheer fatigue.  The air was much cooler when they awoke.  At
Mary's suggestion they climbed to the highest point of the cliffs, from
which they could command a wide prospect over the sea.  When they
reached the summit, they scanned the surface, now as smooth as a lake,
for signs of boat or raft; but nothing was in sight, except far away
several dusky spots which Mary at once declared must be other islands.

"Very likely we drifted past them in the night," said Elizabeth.  "Look
at that mass of floating seaweed just beyond the reef; you see there is
quite a strong current."

"If we went as fast as that in the dinghy, we must have come miles from
where the wreck happened," said Tommy.  "And Uncle won't know; he'll
never find us."

At this the shadow of their misfortune once more descended on them, and
they turned away from each other to hide their distress.  Then Tommy
swung round and cried--

"I won't be a baby!  Bess, if you see any sign of waterworks again,
smack me.  What's the good of crying?  Let's go exploring; that'll help
to keep off the blues."

But in spite of their brave attempts, they veered between hopefulness
and despondency all the rest of the day.  They roamed here and there,
not really going very far, for they still felt safer within easy
distance of their boat.  More than once they returned to the cliff to
search the horizon longingly for any sign of ship or boat, but always
in vain.

In the course of their wandering they came upon some trees bearing
fruit about which they had no doubt.

"Bananas!" cried Tommy, with excitement.  "How jolly! and look at the
clusters on the ground.  We've only to pick them up."

Several clusters had fallen from the trees, and lay ripening where they
fell.  The girls ate some of the fruit, taking note of the position of
the trees, so that they might come to them again.

Then they strolled on, keeping close to the shore, and stopping every
few minutes to gaze yearningly over the sea for the raft they longed to
behold.  Turning their backs on this disappointing horizon, they let
their eyes range over the island, their minds confused between
admiration and wondering awe.  The ground rose in a succession of
irregular terraces, covered with vegetation in every imaginable shade
of green.  In the distance the prospect terminated in a ridge, above
which hovered a light mass of opalescent cloud.  What forms of life
were stirring amid that dark woodland?  What lay beyond that curtain of
rose pink and pearl?  The girls were awed by the mystery of things, as
if subject to an enchanter's spell.

"What's the time?" asked Tommy, presently, bringing them back to the
commonplace.  Both Mary and Elizabeth had watches pinned upon their
dresses, but on looking at them they found that each told a different
hour, and both had stopped.

"I forgot to wind mine up," said Elizabeth.

"So did I," said Mary.

"It must be getting late," said Tommy.  "Look at the sun."

It was clear from its position that night was at hand.  And then Tommy
asked a question that brought back all their uneasiness.

"Where are we to sleep?"

"I have thought of that all day," said Elizabeth.

"Then it's clear you are the statesman of the family," said Tommy.  "I
couldn't have thought about it all day without telling you, and you
haven't said a word.  It didn't occur to me until a moment ago."

"There are no wild beasts in the South Sea Islands--at least, I've
never heard of any," said Mary.

"That's one comfort," said Tommy, "and we've seen no savages or
anything else to alarm us.  Now if we were boys--scouts or something,
used to campaigning in the open--we shouldn't care a pin, but I feel
dreadfully shaky.  What are we to do?"

"We must face it," said Elizabeth quietly.  "I think myself we had
better stay in the boat."

"How awful! think of last night," said Tommy dolefully.

"Perhaps there would be a storm and we should be upset, or blown out to
sea," said Mary.

"Oh, I didn't mean to launch the boat," said Elizabeth.  "That would be
too risky.  We'll leave it on the beach."

"It's only a bit better than being in the open," said Mary.  "I know,
why not make a fire to scare off intruders?  I've read about that being
done."

"That's quite brilliant," said Tommy.  "And it will be a beacon too;
perhaps Uncle will see it.  Let's go back at once and get ready for
supper and bed."

Elizabeth was glad of any activity that would keep them from thinking
of their troubles.  They returned to the beach.  First they collected a
number of stones, which they piled up to make a rough fire-place.  Then
they gathered a large quantity of twigs and dry grass from the edge of
the forest, and finding several small trees which had been uprooted by
storms, they lugged these down to their fire-place.  Then the
self-lighter which Tommy had received from her uncle came in handy, and
by the time it was dark they had a bright pleasant fire that was very
cheering.

They ate more of their biscuit and bacon, with plum cake for sweets and
bananas as dessert; then, having heaped some fuel on the fire, they
crept into the boat and arranged themselves as comfortably as possible.

Tommy was soon asleep, but the elder girls lay awake for a long time,
clasping each other, and talking in murmurs so as not to disturb their
sister.

"Mary dear," said Elizabeth, "we must look at the worst side and face
it for Tommy's sake, you know."

"Yes, I know.  She's not really very strong, is she?  Though she has
such spirit."

"No, she'll be all right so long as she doesn't get wretched, so we
won't say a word to depress her.  We ought to be thankful that we are
safe so far.  I'm afraid to think of what has happened to Uncle; but
supposing--supposing he is--lost, we shall have to do as well as we can
until we are seen from a passing ship."

"Suppose we never are!"

"We won't suppose that.  Think of the many castaways who have been
picked up in time.  By the look of it we shall find food here, and I
rather fancy the island must be uninhabited, or we should have seen
some signs of people."

"We haven't been all over it yet."

"No, of course we can't be sure.  If we do come across people we must
try and make friends with them.  Aren't there some islands called the
Friendly Islands because the people were quite decent?"

"Yes.  Some of the islanders in these parts are gentle and peaceable.
But I'm dreadfully afraid of savages."

"So am I, but we won't think of them.  What a lovely night it is!  So
still and peaceful! and we're just three insignificant dots in all this
great beautiful universe."

They mused in silence, and by and by fell asleep.  Dawn found them very
cramped and stiff.  The fire was out, and as they shivered in the cool
morning air they felt something of the previous day's despondency.  But
Elizabeth, with determined cheerfulness, called to her sisters that it
was breakfast-time.  They made themselves some coffee, using the
extract sparingly to eke it out as long as possible, and after bathing
their faces in the water at the brook, ate their simple breakfast and
then made their way to the top of the cliff to search the ocean once
more for a sign of help.

The sea was even calmer than it had been yesterday, and as the mist
rolled off its surface they were able to scan countless miles of space.

There were the same dark distant shapes, purple in the early sunlight,
and they felt a wondering curiosity about them; but there was no sail
or funnel that betokened a ship.  First one and then another discovered
a speck on the skyline, and they debated whether it was or was not a
boat; but after gazing until their eyes were tired they came to the
conclusion that there was no immediate hope of rescue.

"We ought to raise a flag of distress," said Mary, "which might be seen
if a ship comes near; but we haven't anything big enough."

"Oh, yes, we have!" said Tommy.  "If we tie our silk scarves together
they will make a fine flag."

"But we haven't a flagstaff," said Elizabeth.

"There's a lovely one," said Mary, pointing to a tall slender tree that
stood a little apart from the nearest clump of woodland, like a
sentinel thrown out seaward.  "Can you climb that, Tommy?"

"Rather!  Father didn't like my climbing, but if I hadn't where should
we be now?"

Elizabeth knotted the three scarves together.  Then Tommy ran to the
tree and climbed nimbly almost to the top, the others watching her
breathlessly.  Soon the flag of red and white was fluttering in the
light morning breeze.

"It'll be torn to shreds by the first storm," said Tommy when she
descended.  "Let's hope it will be seen before a storm comes."

They spent the day much as they had spent the first one on the island;
sitting on the beach, now and again visiting the cliff to take another
look across the sea, gathering bananas from the little plantation and
wandering for a short distance along the shore.

"What shall we do when all the bananas are gone?" asked Tommy, as they
ate their dinner.  "The food we have in the boat won't last a week."

"We shall have to go exploring," said Mary.  "I can't believe that
these bananas are the only eatable fruits, and no doubt there are more
bananas somewhere."

They looked up once more at the distant mysterious ridge.

"I don't know how you feel," said Tommy, "but I'm rather scared of
going far from the beach.  Who knows what we should find among those
trees?"

"We might go a little farther than we did yesterday," suggested
Elizabeth.

"Come along, then," said Tommy.  "Oh, gracious!  What's that?"

She pointed towards the ridge.  The other girls looked, but saw nothing.

"What is it?" asked Mary.

"I saw a large beast cross over that bare spot," replied Tommy.

"I think you must have fancied it," said Mary.

"Rubbish!  I tell you I saw it."

"But there aren't any large beasts in these islands," said Mary.

"How do you know?  You think you know everything," said Tommy sharply,
"just because you've read a few books.  I tell you I _did_ see it."

"It couldn't have been a large animal, all the same," persisted Mary.

"You're an idiot," cried Tommy.

Elizabeth saw it was time to intervene.  The girls' nerves were a
little on edge.

"I dare say you are both right," she said tranquilly.  "Tommy evidently
saw something, and though there are no large native animals, Mary,
perhaps it's an imported one.  We can't tell but that there are people
over there, and they might have anything, you know."

"Of course they might," said Tommy triumphantly.  "It might be an
elephant or anything."

And so the little storm blew over, but it made Elizabeth very
thoughtful.  As she lay awake that night, she resolved that something
must be done to occupy their thoughts.  "It will never do to idle away
our time, as we've been doing," she said to herself, "or there'll be
constant bickerings, and we shall all get slack and mopish.  Oh, dear!"

And she did not sleep before she had made a plan.




CHAPTER VII

A LOCAL HABITATION

"Now, my dears," said Elizabeth as they sat at breakfast next morning,
"I've got an idea."

"Hurray!" cried Tommy.  "What is it, Bess?"

"It's just this.  We must act as if we were going to stay on this
island for ever."

Tommy gasped, and a look of dismay came into her eyes.

"Don't you think we'll be rescued, then?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't give up hope.  We may be seen from a ship any day, or
Uncle may come for us; but we can't depend on it.  Plenty of men and
boys have been shipwrecked like us on a lonely island, and have managed
to shift for themselves.  Why shouldn't we?  We're used to outdoor
work: at least, _I_ am, and it would be an odd thing if we couldn't
manage to make ourselves comfortable on an island like this, with half
our work already done for us."

"What do you mean?" asked Mary.

"Why, if you're right about there being plenty of fruit--and I don't
see why you shouldn't be--we shan't have to grow our food, and that's
the chief thing.  So we shall have more time for other things.  The
first thing is to see just what we've got.  Here's mine."

She turned out her pocket, and displayed two handkerchiefs, a thimble,
a small whistle and her jack-knife.

"That's not a great deal," she said, smiling.  "Now, Mary."

"There's my knife, and a hanky, and my little pen-knife, and hurray! my
housewife."

And as she suddenly remembered that on the night before the storm she
had been mending her uncle's clothes, the recollection almost moved her
to tears.

"I've got the most," said Tommy, with a laugh.  "Look here--scissors,
hanky, some bits of string, my match-box, jack-knife, picture postcard
of an aeroplane--wish we had an aeroplane!--and----"

She had unfolded a much-worn scrap of paper; now she folded it again
and replaced it in her pocket.

"What is it?" asked Elizabeth.

"It's only that stupid old receipt for butterscotch: no good to us
here."

They all smiled.

"Well, we can't boast of much in the way of personal possessions," said
Elizabeth; "but we have the boat, two oars, a boat-hook, the painter, a
few cups and things, my string bag, that's a lucky find--and our
macintoshes.  More than Crusoe had."

"Not so much, Bess," said Mary.  "You don't remember.  I always think
Crusoe was jolly lucky."

"I dare say you are right.  Well, we've taken stock.  That's one good
thing done.  Now what do you say to building a hut?"

"What!  With scissors and knives?" asked Mary.

"You'll see.  We ought to try, I think.  The weather is lovely now, but
I shouldn't care about sleeping in the boat in a rainstorm, even under
a macintosh.  And you know how it rains in these tropical parts."

"It'll be great fun," said Tommy, "but I don't see how it's to be done."

"We'll have to cut down some saplings with our jack-knives.  I don't
quite see myself what we shall do next, but that will be a start,
anyway, and I dare say ideas will come as we go along."

"That doesn't sound much like an architect," said Tommy, "but let's
try.  It will give us something to do and keep us from getting catty."

Elizabeth smiled as she saw her intentions thus realized.

"We must choose our site," she said.  "Surveying, don't they call it?"

"All settlements are made near running water," said Mary, "so it ought
to be near the stream."

They followed with their eyes the course of the bright little stream as
it flowed out of the woodland down to the shore.  There was no suitable
spot for the hut near at hand, and to find one involved going farther
than they had yet ventured to go.  But having now a definite object in
view they found themselves a little more courageous, and springing up
they set off along the bank of the stream towards the higher ground.
They walked cautiously and in silence, looking about them with
wide-open eyes, ready to flee at the slightest alarming sight or sound.
Suddenly Tommy said in a whisper--

"Here! this is the very place."

She indicated a grassy knoll some ten or twelve feet above the bed of
the stream.  The girls stopped at its edge and looked at it.  On the
inland side it was fringed with a row of small trees; seaward the view
was uninterrupted.

"It looks nice," said Mary.  "Let's measure it."

Elizabeth, being the tallest, stepped the grassy plot from end to end
and from side to side.

"I make it about twenty feet by sixteen," she said, "just about the
size of our dining-room at home.  I think it will do splendidly.
There's water close at hand; there are plenty of saplings in the woods
beyond; and the hillside will protect us from storms, unless they come
from the sea."

"And what a lovely outlook it has!" said Mary, turning towards the sea.
"We couldn't have a nicer place."

"Then we will fix on it," said Elizabeth.  "Now who's to be architect?"

"Oh, you, Bess!" said Tommy; "we're no good at that."

"I'm afraid I'm not either," said Elizabeth, laughing.  "But I suppose
we ought to put up some posts for the walls, and weave rushes and
things between them.  Anyway, the first thing is to cut down some stout
saplings that will be strong enough."

"Well, there are plenty in the woods; quite close too," said Tommy.

"But how can we cut them down?" asked Mary; "we haven't axes or saws."

"We have our knives, though," said Tommy.  "Come on, let's begin."

They went into the wood, where the trees at the edge were not at all
dense, and selected several saplings of about the same height and
thickness.  Then each dropped on her knees before one of the saplings,
scratched a circular line on the bark and began to hack away at this
with the knife.  For some time nothing was heard but the slight sounds
made by the knives; each girl worked hard as though engaged in a
competition.  But presently Tommy straightened her back, and uttered a
sort of sighing grunt.

"How are you getting on?" asked Elizabeth, without desisting from her
task.

"All right," cried Tommy, stooping and setting to work furiously.
"They shan't beat me," she said to herself.

But in a few minutes Mary gave a plaintive little exclamation, dropped
her knife, and rubbed her right hand with her left.

"You're _soon_ tired," said Tommy, working harder than ever.

"I think my tree must be a specially tough one," said Mary.  "I don't
seem to make much impression, and my wrist does ache so."

"Take a rest, dear," said Elizabeth.  "Shouldn't we get on better if
two worked at the same tree while the other rested?  We could take it
in turns.  When we have cut down the first, we shall have something to
show for our work."

"A good idea!" said Tommy, springing up and running to Elizabeth's
tree.  "You take first spell off, Mary."

The two girls worked at the trunk from opposite sides.  The air was
growing hotter and hotter, the insects became very troublesome, and as
time went on and the incisions they had made in the sappy wood were
still very shallow, both felt very much discouraged.

"We shall never get through the wretched thing," said Tommy in disgust.
"Can't we snap it off, Bess?"

"I'm afraid that would only splinter it," said Elizabeth.  "It is a
bother.  What troubles me most is that our knives will be hopelessly
blunted if it takes so long to cut one tree.  Still, we must peg away.
You rest now, Tommy, and let Mary try again."

Tommy got up with relief, and strolled a few yards away while her
sisters continued the work.  In a few minutes she came running back.

"What idiots we are!" she cried.  "Stop work, you two.  We needn't
break our backs or our wrists at all.  Come and look."

She led them to the edge of the grassy knoll, and pointed to three
small trees standing within a few feet of each other about the same
distance apart, and forming the corners of a sort of triangle.

"There!" she said.  "Don't you see?  There's half our work done for us.
Those three trees can be the corner posts of our hut, and we can use
the branches to make a roof."

Quite excited at her discovery, she pointed out that two of the trees
had each thrown out a branch about seven feet from the ground, and the
third had a branch a little higher.  These overhanging branches
protected one side of the triangle, and Tommy suggested that they could
be employed as a framework upon which they might spread mats woven from
the grasses on the bank of the stream.

"It would take a terrible time to weave the mats," said Mary dubiously.

"Not so long as to cut down the trees," replied Tommy, "and not nearly
so hard work.  What do you say, Bess?"

"It's a capital idea, but I can't weave."

"Oh, we'll soon teach you that," said Tommy.  "You didn't go to a
kindergarten like Mary and me; but it's not very different from the
string work you did on board.  Come along; let's make a start."

They went hopefully to the bank of the stream, but when they tried to
cut down the rushes, they found that their knives were already blunt.
As the day was now very hot, and they were hungry and tired, they
resolved to have an early dinner, then rest for a while, and later on
sharpen their knives on stones at the beach and try again.

By the evening they had cut a large quantity of grasses, which they
placed in a heap to be weaved next day.  They decided again to sleep in
the boat, and returned to it just before sunset by way of the clump of
banana-trees, carrying their supper with them.

"We have made a good start," said Elizabeth cheerfully, as they sat
munching bananas in the boat.

"Yes, but I tell you what," said Tommy, "I'm getting tired of bananas."

"Already!" said Mary, smiling.  "Don't you remember how you said once
at home you'd love to live in a banana plantation, where you could pick
as many as you liked?"

"And you told me the story of a greedy boy who loved cake, and dreamt
that he was in the middle of a big one, and had to eat his way out.  I
was a silly kid then.  Anyway, I'm sick of bananas now, and people say
it's bad to have no change of diet."

"But what can we do?" said Elizabeth.  "We haven't seen anything else."

"Except birds," said Mary.  "Pigeon-pie is rather nice."

"We might snare some," said Tommy, "or fish--what about fish?  They'd
be easiest to catch, I expect.  I've got some string, and we can easily
find something that'll do for a rod."

"And a bent pin for a hook," said Mary.

"Now just listen to that!" said Tommy.  "Anybody would think we were
going fishing for sticklebacks.  No fish worth cooking would ever let
himself be hooked by a bent pin.  We'll find something better than
that."

"We'll see what we can do to-morrow," said Elizabeth.  "We've never
done any sea-fishing, and fishing in the river at home won't help us
much, I fancy.  Still, we can try, and I'd like a little fish for a
change.  You both look awfully tired, so let's go to sleep now; we
shall have plenty to do in the morning."

And Elizabeth, as she laid herself down that night, felt happy in the
success of her plan.  "If we can only keep busy," she said to herself,
"all will be well.  But I do hope it won't be for long."




CHAPTER VIII

THE FISHERS

Up with the sun next morning, the girls began the day by bathing in a
little secluded pool, where there was no danger of being interrupted by
a shark.  Immediately after breakfast they set off to the site of their
hut, looked cautiously around to make sure that no one had been there,
and began to weave the grasses they had prepared the day before.
Elizabeth was at first rather slow, but the others worked quickly, and
by dinner-time they had each finished a mat several feet square.

"You two have quite outstripped me," said Elizabeth as they returned to
the boat.  "I'll go on with my mat after dinner, while you see what you
can do to make some fishing-tackle."

"Right!" cried Tommy; "you shall have fish for supper, if you're good."

They dined on bananas and coffee, ruefully noticing that the tin of
condensed milk was nearly empty.  Then Mary and Tommy went up the
stream to a place where they had seen a clump of canes, which would
furnish any number of fishing-rods.  They selected one about six feet
long, and after a good deal of trouble, the wood being tough, cut it
down.  Tommy brought out of her pocket two or three pieces of string of
unequal length and thickness, and knotted them together.

"There's our line," she said, "and it's lucky there's no one here to
laugh at it."

"How can we fasten it on to the rod?" asked Mary.

"Tie it, of course."

Tommy proceeded to tie the string to the thinner end of the rod.

"Oh, bother!" she said, "the cane's so smooth the string slips down
every time.  This won't do."

"Let's make a hole in the rod, and put the string through it,"
suggested Mary.

"The cane is sure to split if we try to bore a hole with a knife," said
Tommy.  "I know!  There's a sort of spike in my knife.  We'll make it
red-hot, and then I dare say we can bore a clean hole."

They ran back to their little camp on the beach, where Elizabeth was
still at work on her mat.

"How are you getting on?" asked Mary.

"Faster now," replied Elizabeth.  "I shall beat you both soon."

They told her what they had done, and Tommy thrust the spike into the
fire, which they never allowed to go out.  Meanwhile, Mary hunted for
something that would serve as a hook.  She gave a cry of delight when
she discovered a strong safety-pin; and Tommy having by this time bored
a hole neatly through the cane, they very soon had their
rough-and-ready fishing-tackle complete.  It only remained to bait the
hook.  They found plenty of small shellfish clinging fast to the rocks
on the shore, and they prised these up with their knives, and provided
themselves with a number of the little molluscs.  Thus equipped, they
went along the shore in search of a spot that promised success.  They
were both excited--and Elizabeth was so much interested in the
experiment that she laid down her mat and followed her sisters.  After
a little time they came to an irregular line of rocks running from the
base of the cliffs towards the reef on which they had nearly struck on
approaching the island.  They had already observed that some of the
rocks always stood above water, while others were sometimes submerged.
These latter were easily distinguishable by the seaweed and the limpets
with which they were covered.  At the present moment the tide was going
down, and the girls thought that they would have a good chance of
catching some of the fish that had probably come up with the tide.

Accordingly, they made their way for some distance along the rocky
barrier.  The sea was pretty calm, owing to the protection of the reef;
but every now and then there was a dash of spray over the rocks at the
farthest end.  Choosing a rock that was lashed by broken water on the
seaward side, and had a deep calm pool on the landward side, they
determined to try their luck.

"I can see hundreds of fish darting about," said Mary, peering into the
pool as Tommy baited the hook.

"The more the merrier," said Tommy.  "Look out, Bess, I don't want to
hook you, dear."

The other girls gave Tommy a wide berth as she cast her hook, then came
to her side and waited for the expected catch.  She had not put on a
float, declaring that any fish worth catching would soon make itself
felt.  But as she drew the line towards her she had no sense of weight
or resistance; the hook came up with the bait untouched.

"They don't fancy it, apparently," said Tommy.  "I'll have another try.
Look out!"  Again she cast the line, and again drew it in.

"I declare, the little wretches are nibbling the bait off under our
very noses," she cried, as the hook passed through the clear water of
the pool.  "How disgusting!"

"Poor little things! why shouldn't they enjoy themselves?" said Mary.

"Oh! if you're going to talk like that, I've done," said Tommy,
flinging down the rod impatiently.

Elizabeth picked it up.

"Let me try," she said.

She baited the hook again, but had no more success than her sister.

"It is exasperating," she said.  "I'm surprised the fish here are so
clever."

"You'd better have tried a bent pin as I suggested," said Mary.  "You'd
have caught some of those little chaps swarming there.  The safety-pin
is too big for them."

"Who wants little skinny things?" said Tommy.  "I'd like a haddock or a
cod.  Let me try again, Bess."

Once more the hook was baited and let down.  Again it was surrounded by
a swarm of eager nibblers, and Tommy was on the point of drawing it
back in disgust when suddenly the crowd of little fish parted and
scattered in all directions, darting off like streaks of light.  The
girls held their breath as they saw a "whopper," as Tommy called it,
come slowly towards the bait.  It seemed to smell at it, moving round
with flicks of its tail.  Then it opened its mouth--and Tommy felt a
tug on the line.

"Got him!" she cried triumphantly.  "A monster, too."

The other girls watched her as she drew it in.  She wasted no time in
playing it, but simply hauled it up towards the rock.  Bess stooped,
and while Mary held her to prevent her from stumbling into the sea, she
slipped her hands underneath the fish and jerked it out of the water.

"He's not such a monster after all," said Mary.  "How deceptive the
water is!"

The fish, indeed, was no bigger than a good-sized haddock.

"It is big enough to make us a good supper," said Elizabeth, "and I
don't think we should try to catch any more now.  They won't keep in
this climate.  Tommy can catch some every day if she likes."

"All right," said Tommy.  "But, I say, I can't wait till supper-time.
The look of the fish gives me an appetite.  I vote we have it for tea.
You're cook, Bess.  I'll finish your mat while you're getting the fish
ready."

This was agreed upon, and they returned to the camp.  The two younger
girls resumed the weaving, while Elizabeth, using a flat stone as a
kitchen table, set about cleaning the fish in a very housewifely manner.

All at once Mary dropped her hands and cried "Oh!"

"What's the matter?" asked Tommy.

"Suppose the fish is poisonous!  Some are, you know."

"Goodness, yes!  What can we do?  We haven't a taster, like some old
kings I've read about."

"Don't worry," said Elizabeth tranquilly.  "We must have a change of
food, and there's bound to be a little risk in trying new things.
We'll cook it, and I'll eat a little.  We shall soon know if there's
any harm in it."

"Oh, no, Bess," said Mary.  "Why should you take the risk?"

"Somebody must, and I'm the eldest--and the toughest, I expect, so that
if it does make me ill I shall get over it sooner than you."

"And I did so want a snack!" sighed Tommy.  "You won't eat much, will
you, Bess?  We couldn't spare you, you know."

"I'll be careful," said Elizabeth, with a smile.  "It looks very
tempting, doesn't it?"

"Don't, Bess; you make my mouth water," said Tommy.  "How are you going
to fry it?"

"I thought of boiling it in the kettle."

"I wouldn't do that," said Mary.  "I don't care for fishy tea.  It
would take ages to get the taste out of the kettle."

"But I don't see how we can fry it without a frying-pan."

"Bake it," said Tommy.  "Let's make an oven.  I'll show you."

She ran to the beach and collected a number of stones, which she
brought back and arranged in the shape of a small circle.  Outside this
she placed a second circle, and filled the space between the two with
dried grasses, brushwood and twigs.

"Now, Bess," she said, "but a portion of the fish in the inner circle.
Then we'll set light to the fuel, and cover it all over with stones,
and the fish will bake in no time."

"But it will be smoky," protested Mary.

"Not if we wrap it in leaves.  Let's try, at any rate; if it doesn't
succeed we shan't have spoiled much."

The fish was wrapped in leaves as Tommy suggested, and placed on a
stone in the midst of the small circle.  Then, having pressed the fuel
firmly together so that it should not burn away too quickly, Elizabeth
kindled it from the fire, and covered it with stones, leaving a few
spaces for the passage of air.  They were so much interested in their
experiment that they sat idly about the novel oven, waiting until the
fish should be cooked.  Every now and again Tommy would lift off one of
the stones to see how the cooking was proceeding.

"The leaves are turning brown," she would say delightedly.  "And what a
lovely smell!"

After about a quarter of an hour they removed the stones and the
wrappings, and Elizabeth declared the fish was done.

"It doesn't look so nice as if we'd had egg and bread-crumbs," she
said, "but we must do without those luxuries."

She tasted a small portion.

"Very nice," she said, "in spite of no salt or pepper."

"Don't eat too much," said Mary anxiously.

"I must give it a fair trial.  Make the tea, Tommy, will you?  A cup of
tea will qualify the poison if there is any."

"What a nerve you've got!" said Tommy admiringly.

Soon all were drinking tea, and the younger girls munched bananas,
while Elizabeth ate a few small pieces of the baked fish.  They watched
her with anxiety mingled with envy.

"Really, you mustn't eat any more," said Tommy at last.  "Now rest
against the side of the boat."  She placed a shawl behind her sister's
head, and covered her feet with her macintosh.

"Any one would think I was an invalid," said Elizabeth, laughing.

"It's nothing to laugh at," said Mary severely.  "You may be very ill
by and by."

"Meanwhile put the rest of the fish where the flies and insects can't
get at it," said Elizabeth.  "There's a nice little hollow in that rock
over there.  Cover it with leaves."

This done, they sat one on each side of Elizabeth, propping their chins
on their hands, and gazing at her with mournful interest.

"This is _too_ absurd," said Elizabeth, after a few minutes.  "Let us
get on with our hut.  I can't stand being stared at like this.  Come
along, girls.  We must cut down some more canes to make walls; I'll
show you what I mean."

They went up-stream to the clump of canes, and, selecting some of the
longest, proceeded to hack them down with their knives--no easy task,
for the longest canes were also the thickest.  But after a little
trouble they got three or four that Elizabeth thought would answer her
purpose, and took them to the site chosen for the hut.  Here they laid
the canes across the projecting branches of the three trees, binding
them firmly in place with strong tendrils of a creeping plant.  After
an hour's work all the canes were in position, forming a kind of
framework for the roof.

"Now all we have to do is to cover this with matting, and our roof is
finished," said Elizabeth.  "We shall have to get some more canes to
stretch matting on for the walls, and as we have used up nearly all the
grasses we collected, we had better go at once to get some more ready
for to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" cried Mary.  "I'd forgotten!  Do you feel quite well,
Bess?"

"As well as possible."

"How long is it since you ate the fish?" asked Tommy.

"More than two hours--long enough for the poison to act, I'm sure.  So
we may make up our minds that the fish is perfectly wholesome, and
there's baked fish for supper for all of us to-night."

"Hurray!" said Tommy, beginning to dance.  "Let's go and get the
grasses; by the time we have got enough to make our mats it will be
supper-time.  Oh!  I am so glad you are not ill, Bess."

They spent an hour or two in gathering grasses, and returned to their
little camp shortly before sunset, in order to cook their supper before
dark.  Tommy ran to the hole in the rock where the fish had been left.
A cry of dismay startled her sisters.

"What is it?" they cried, turning towards her.

"It's gone, every bit of it; oh, who has stolen it?"

She looked round with alarm in her eyes, and the other girls also
glanced about them with consternation and anxiety.  Was it possible
that some one had been spying on them?

"I _did_ see somebody that day," said Tommy in a whisper.

"But who would want to steal a bit of fish?" said Elizabeth, with
practical common-sense.  "If there are natives here, they could fish
for themselves, I'm sure."

"There aren't any cats in these parts, are there, Mary?" asked Tommy.

"I never read of them.  But--good gracious!" she cried suddenly, "there
are the bones!"

She had looked a little farther into the hole than Tommy had done, and
there lay the skeleton of the fish picked clean of every bit of flesh.

"I know what it is," she said.  "It's a land-crab's hole, and the
wretch smelt the fish, I suppose, and came out for a feast while we
were busy."

"The mean thing!" cried Tommy.  "And we shan't have any fish for supper
after all.  I'll serve him out."

She ran to the boat and brought back the boat-hook, with which she
poked vigorously in the hole.  In a few minutes a large crab came
scuttling out, at the sight of which she picked up her skirt and ran
away, not liking the look of his formidable nippers.

They supped as usual on bananas and tea, resolving to choose a safer
larder when next they kept fish for a future meal.




CHAPTER IX

THE LITTLE BROWN FACE

"I say, my hair is in a terrible tangle," said Mary next morning, after
they had bathed.  "I wish we had a comb."

In the haste of their dressing, the last night on the _Elizabeth_, they
had done up their hair anyhow, forgetting all about their combs.

"What do the South Sea natives do, Mary?" asked Elizabeth.

"I fancy I've read that they build up their hair into a sort of huge
turban, with grease and things."

"Horrid!" said Tommy.  "I vote we cut our hair short like a boy's;
you've got a pair of scissors in your housewife, Mary.  Then it won't
bother any of us."

"I don't think that would be wise," said Elizabeth; "we might get
sunstroke.  As it is we are protected a little.  I'm going to let my
hair down.  Perhaps we might make a comb out of a bit of wood."

"A long fiddling job that will be," said Tommy.  "I'm going to catch a
fish for breakfast, and if it's like the one I caught yesterday, take
out the backbone and use that for a comb."

"That's rather an original idea," said Elizabeth.  "Won't our hair
smell fishy, though?"

"Not if we wash the bone and then dry it in the sun, I should think.
Anyway, we can try."

The girls went off together to the rocks from which they had fished on
the previous day.  The first fish they hooked was of a different kind
from the one whose wholesomeness they had proved, and Tommy threw it
back into the sea, saying that she could not wait while another
experiment was being tried.  After a time she landed one of the right
sort, and this, when baked, made a capital breakfast for them all.  No
biscuit remained, and Tommy sighed for bread and butter; but they
enjoyed the change of fare.  They washed the skeleton as Tommy had
suggested, and set it to dry in the sun.  Then they resumed their
weaving.  Elizabeth made some rough measurements, and found that a
great deal more matting was required than they anticipated, so that
several days must pass before they could begin the actual building of
the hut.

Mary and Elizabeth had both set their watches by the sun, and so were
able to tell with reasonable accuracy the time of day.  But they had
not kept count of the days as they passed, and now Elizabeth suggested
that they should each morning cut a notch in one of the trees to serve
as a calendar.

That night they tested the comb of fishbone.  Mary's hair was the
finest, and she managed to comb out its tangles fairly well; but when
Elizabeth tried to do the same with her thicker and stronger locks,
several of the bones snapped off, and it was clear that a new comb of
this sort would be needed every day.  She reverted, therefore, to her
idea of trying to make a wooden comb; and during the next few days,
Mary, who had had some practice in fretwork at home, worked with her
knife at a thin fragment of wood.

It was a difficult task.  She found herself quite unable to make the
teeth equal in size, or equal in distance from each other.  But she
persevered, and on the third evening after starting the work she showed
the comb to her sisters.

"Well, it's half-way between a curry-comb and a garden rake," said
Tommy, with a laugh.  "But I dare say it's better than fish-bones.  Let
me have first go on my thatch."

She began to operate upon her hair, a little yell every now and then
proclaiming that the teeth had "caught."  But all the girls voted that
it was better than nothing, and they used it in turn every morning and
night.

When there were six notches on the tree, Elizabeth said that she
thought there was enough matting to complete the walls of the hut, so
they carried their handiwork up to the knoll.  Tommy climbed into the
trees, and fastened the upper edges of several mats to the overhanging
boughs, while the other girls stuck a double row of canes into the
ground, one inside and the other outside the matting, to keep it
steady.  The various strips of matting had to be sewn together, and at
these places an extra long cane was introduced, to which the mats were
fastened by means of thin flexible tendrils.  A day's work sufficed to
complete three walls; the fourth side, facing the sea, was left open.

It now only remained to complete the roof.  Next day the girls added
other canes to those which they had already laid across the branches,
until they formed a close lattice-work.  This they covered with
matting, and then deliberated whether to finish it off with thatch.  As
children they had often helped the thatchers at the farm, so that they
would not find any difficulty in the work; but they guessed that in so
warm a climate thatch would harbour insect pests of all kinds, and they
did not feel comfortable at the thought of having such house-mates.

"Still, I think we must chance it," said Mary.  "There's one thing to
be said, and that is, that the whole contrivance is so slight and
simple that we can make it all over again if necessary."

"That's all very well," said Tommy, "but we aren't spiders, and I shall
be pretty mad if there's all this work to do again.  I'd rather do
something fresh."

"We haven't found much else to occupy us so far," said Elizabeth.
"Anyway, we won't ask you to do the repairs, Tommy, if you don't like
it."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," said Tommy at once; "I'll do my fair share,
but I know I shall get a bit ratty if a silly old storm knocks our nice
hut to pieces."

The thatching occupied two more days, and then the girls looked with a
great deal of pleasure on their neat little hut.

"But we haven't done yet," said Elizabeth.  "The thatch will protect us
from any ordinary rain, but we're still liable to be swamped by water
running down the hill behind.  We had better scrape out a trench all
round, to carry the water down to the shore."

This proved the hardest part of the work.  They had no tools except
their knives and the boat-hook, and with these to cut a trench deep
enough to be effective was very trying to their patience.  Such
continuous plodding work did not suit Tommy's restless, active
temperament at all, and she would constantly jump up and run off to the
beach, or to the edge of the wood.  At such times Mary was inclined to
be impatient and reproachful, but Elizabeth said that they mustn't
expect too much from Tommy.

"She's very young, you know, and it's really wonderful how her spirits
have kept up so well.  She's more nervy than we are, Mary, and I am
always afraid she will break down."

So neither she nor Mary said anything to Tommy about her fitfulness,
and Tommy herself always came back repentant after these little
absences, and worked away hard until the next fit of restlessness
overtook her.

To give her a change from scraping away at the trench, Elizabeth
suggested that she should make a mat curtain for the open side of the
hut.

"We don't want a door," she said, "but a curtain will be useful at
night.  Leave a little space between it and the roof for ventilation.
We can fasten the two lower corners to the canes."

Tommy set about this task willingly, and had the curtain fixed by the
time the trench was finished.  The hut was now complete so far as its
exterior was concerned; it had taken more than a fortnight altogether.
What they had now to consider was the internal fittings.  Tommy laughed
when this was mentioned.

"We can't get a bedroom suite, even on the hire system," she said.  "I
suppose you'd call it a bed-sitting-room, wouldn't you?"

"Let's call it 'Our Flat,'" suggested Mary.

"The best flat that ever was," said Tommy.  "No botherations from
unpleasant neighbours--at least, I hope not."

"We certainly shan't have a tiresome piano going next door," said
Elizabeth.  "I think 'Our Flat' is a very good name.  What a pity we
haven't a table and pen, ink and paper!--then Mary could write a diary
of our doings."

"With moral reflections," added Tommy.  "'To-day our youngest sister
refused to wash up; how sad to see such a selfish spirit in one so
young!'  That's the sort of thing, isn't it, Mary?"

"I shouldn't write anything of the sort," said Mary indignantly.  "You
haven't refused to wash up, and if you did, do you think I should tell
it?"

"My dear, you are perfectly killing," said Tommy.  "Do you think you'd
get your old diary published?  No one would read it if you did."

"We're talking nonsense, aren't we?" said Elizabeth.  "There's no
chance of any of us writing a diary.  Let's be practical.  The only
furniture we can supply ourselves with is--beds."

"More weaving?" cried Tommy.  "Oh, I am so sick of it, Bess.  Can't we
sleep on the ground?"

"I don't think we'd better; we might get rheumatism, though to be sure
the ground seems dry enough at present.  But I own that weaving mats
day after day is rather tiring, so shall we leave it for the present,
and still sleep in the boat?  What do you say to doing a little more
exploration?"

"Yes, why not?" said Tommy eagerly.  "We haven't seen a soul--since I
saw that figure move along the top of the ridge, at any rate; and I
dare say that was an animal of some kind.  I don't think there are any
people here at all."

"There may be some on the other side of the ridge," said Mary.

"Well, if there are, they must be a very unenterprising lot," said
Tommy.  "Let's follow up the stream to its source.  I've never seen the
source of a river, and that'll be geography, won't it?  Besides, our
bananas will soon be all gone, and we ought to look for some more; we
can't live on nothing but fish."

"Very well; we will do as you say," said Elizabeth.  "It's very hot
to-day, so we'll cover our heads with leaves; it's just as well to take
precautions."

Shortly afterwards they set out, carrying the oars and the boat-hook as
weapons of defence.  Although they had gained confidence from never
having seen any human being, as soon as they had walked beyond the
limit of their previous excursions they felt something of the old
timidity, and spoke only in whispers.

"Our flag is still flying," said Tommy, as they came to a spot whence
they could see the tree she had climbed on their first day on the
island.  "Evidently no one has seen it or thought it worth noticing."

"That's a consolation in one way," said Elizabeth.  "These South Sea
Islanders have canoes, haven't they, Mary?  We haven't seen any, which
is a negative proof that our island isn't inhabited; but if any people
from another island happened to have come this way, they would almost
certainly have noticed our flag, and perhaps come to see what it meant."

They were following the course of the stream.  It zigzagged about a
good deal, at first through a fairly thick belt of woodland, then
through a comparatively clear space of a few hundred yards, then into
woodland again, always narrowing.  They were still some distance below
the crest of the ridge when they came to a small swamp, beyond which
there was no stream.

"This must be the source," said Mary.

"How disappointing!" said Tommy.  "I wanted to see a nice little
spring, with beautiful clear water bubbling up.  This swamp is simply
horrid."

"There must be a spring somewhere in the swamp," said Elizabeth,
smiling.  "But it isn't worth while to hunt for it, even if we could
find it.  The stream is certainly prettier lower down.  Let's go on; we
are not very far from the top, and we might be able to get a good view
from there--see the whole of the island and the sea beyond."

"I feel quite like a discoverer," said Mary.  "Can't you imagine how
Drake must have felt when he first caught sight of the Pacific?"

"You romantic old dear!" cried Tommy.  "I don't care a bit what Drake
felt; all I hope is we shan't wish we hadn't come."

They went on quietly, feeling a little nervous.  The ground here was
bare except for a few shrubs, and they drew their breath more quickly
as they mounted the slope.  At last they reached the top.  One and all
gave a sigh of disappointment.  Directly in front of them, to the
north, was a second ridge higher than the one on which they stood.  But
on every other side there was a fine view.  To the south the land fell
away rapidly towards the sea, of which they caught a glimpse over the
tree-tops nearly a mile away.  To the west, the direction from which
they had come, the sea was much farther off.  To the east there was a
gradual slope downwards into a country for the most part densely
wooded, but here and there showing traces of clearings natural or
otherwise.  The greatest extent of land seemed to be to the north-east,
where the sea was much farther remote than it was on the west.  None of
the girls had any experience in judging distances, but they saw that
the island was longer than it was broad, and that the greatest length
was from north-west to south-east.

"Shall we go to the farther ridge?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes, let's," said Tommy.  "There isn't a sign of a living creature;
the island is just ours."

A thick belt of woodland separated the two ridges at the point where
they stood, so they moved somewhat to the right to search for a more
open way.  All at once they came to a halt.  A little in front of them
was a pole, carrying what appeared to be the remains of a small flag.
About fifty paces beyond it was another exactly similar; and then they
saw that there were five or six altogether, extending along the crest
of the ridge, all the same distance apart.

"I think we had better go back," said Mary, looking a trifle scared.
"There are people after all."

Her sisters were equally disturbed at the sight of poles evidently
erected by human agency.  There was nobody to be seen, and from the
appearance of the poles they were not attended to; the flags on them
were the merest rags of coloured cloth.  But the girls were not
inclined to face any more discoveries.  The bare possibility that there
were savages on the island made them shiver.  They paused for a few
moments at the spot where they first caught sight of the poles, and
then turned, intending to make their way in the direction of home.

Just then, however, Tommy caught sight of some bananas clustering thick
a little way down the slope on the eastern side.

"I'm hungry," she said.  "Those look bigger than what we have had.
Couldn't we go and fetch a few?"

The clump of trees lay on the slope below the line of poles, a good
distance away from them.

"It's rather silly to be scared so easily," said Elizabeth.  "There
isn't a sign of anybody; I think we might venture.  We must find a new
supply."

They moved quickly down towards the trees, listening, peering about
them, ready to fly at the least alarm.  But when they came to the trees
they felt that they had the reward of courage, for there, within a
short distance of them, was a sight that made them gasp with surprise
and delight.  Beside the stumpy, long-leaved banana-trees, there were
other trees glittering with green and yellow fruit and with white
blossom.  The laden boughs bent down invitingly, and beneath them the
golden globes of fallen fruit glowed amid the grass.

"Oranges, I declare!" exclaimed Mary.

"How lovely!" cried Tommy, forgetting all her fears, and running
forward to pick an orange from the ground.

Her sisters followed more leisurely, but before they reached her Tommy
suddenly uttered a cry of terror.  The orange she had taken fell from
her hand.  The other girls ran to her side and found her pale with
fright.

"There!" she said, pointing towards a clump of hibiscus.

"What is it, dear?" asked Elizabeth.

"In the bushes--a little brown face!" whispered Tommy, with trembling
lips.




CHAPTER X

ANXIOUS DAYS

For a moment, under the shock of the startling piece of news, Elizabeth
was tempted to seize her sisters by the hand and run.  Tommy was so
practical and unimaginative a young person that she could hardly have
been altogether mistaken, and a "little brown face," if face it was,
must belong to a native.  But Elizabeth thought quickly, and even while
her heart was galloping with nervous excitement, she made up her mind
that to run away now was not the right course.  A show of bravery was
much more likely to serve them.  If there really was a native in
hiding, he would certainly have seen them, and to run or slink away now
would merely provoke pursuit, in which the fugitives would be at a
great disadvantage.  Summoning all her courage, therefore, Elizabeth
advanced towards the bush to which Tommy had pointed.

"Don't go, Bess," implored Tommy in an agitated whisper, and Mary, as
pale as a sheet, put an arm about the younger girl.

Elizabeth went straight on, looking carefully around.

"Is this it?" she asked quietly, turning towards her sisters, now
several yards distant.

Tommy merely nodded; Mary murmured, "How _could_ she do it?"

Elizabeth peered into the bush.  There was no little brown face now,
nor, though she went to and fro amongst the trees beyond, could she see
any one, brown or white, lurking.  She listened as the thought struck
her that it might have been a monkey, and she had heard monkeys
screaming and chattering in the Zoological Gardens in London; but there
was no sound, not even the twitter or squawk of a bird.

Brave as she was in outward mien, Elizabeth, after a few minutes'
search, returned with hasty step to her sisters.

"My silly heart!" she said, with a faint smile, placing her hand to her
side.  "I couldn't see anything.  Tommy; don't you think you may have
imagined it?"

"Just as you did before," added Mary.

"I didn't!" cried Tommy.  "Why won't you believe me?  I _did_ see a
brown face; I am sure I did."

"It is very strange," said Elizabeth.  "We were here only a few seconds
after you cried out; there wasn't much time for any one to get away."

"You are both horrible," said Tommy, her lips quivering.  "Any one
would think I was a fool.  I'll prove that I was right, whatever
happens."

With the courage of indignation she pulled Elizabeth towards the clump
of bushes, and began to examine the soft mossy carpet.

"There!" she cried triumphantly, yet fearfully, pointing presently to a
mark on the ground.  Elizabeth stooped and made out two or three faint
impressions of a foot smaller even than Tommy's.  And then Tommy's fear
returned in full force.  With a little cry she dragged Elizabeth from
the spot, and since nothing is so catching as fear even Elizabeth's
courage gave way, and soon all three girls were running as hard as they
could run towards the stream, and did not halt until they came to the
boat.

[Illustration: "'THERE!' SHE CRIED TRIUMPHANTLY, YET FEARFULLY."]

"Oh, dear, how ashamed I am!" panted Elizabeth, as they threw
themselves down on the sand to rest.

"You were very brave," said Mary.  "I couldn't have gone into those
bushes for anything."

"Perhaps they were marks of a monkey's feet," said Elizabeth.  "How
silly I was not to examine them more closely."

"They weren't," said Tommy.  "I saw them quite plainly.  They were feet
just like yours and mine, only tiny, wee things."

"I wonder if the people here are dwarfs," said Mary.  "There must be
people.  That's certain now."

"If they are dwarfs they must be more afraid of us than we are of
them," said Elizabeth.

"Impossible!" said Tommy.  "I was never in such a fright in my life.
Oh!"

"What is it?" asked Elizabeth, with an anxious look around.

"The oranges! we haven't got any, and I shall be afraid to go there
again."

"That's a pity," said Elizabeth; "they looked so nice.  Perhaps we can
find some in another part of the island."

"I won't look for any," said Tommy.  "I won't stir from this place--at
least not farther than to the bananas, and they're nearly all gone.
What if the savages come and attack us?"

"Some of them have poisoned arrows," said Mary, quaking.

"Really, I think we are crying before we are hurt," said Elizabeth.
"We haven't been molested so far, and surely that proves that whatever
people there are, they are not very terrible."

"I know I shan't sleep a wink to-night," said Tommy.

"Hadn't we better launch the boat and spend the night on the sea?" said
Mary.  "They might attack us in the darkness."

"We'll drag it down a little nearer the sea," replied Elizabeth, "and
we can take turns to keep watch, if you like; but I'm sure we oughtn't
to show the white feather.  The best thing we can do is to forget all
about it."

"It's easy to say, but I know I shan't forget it as long as I live,"
cried Tommy.  "And we were so jolly; it's all spoilt."

"Well, we _must_ eat," said Elizabeth, afraid of a breakdown.  "Let us
cook some fish, and be as comfortable as we can."

They spent the rest of that day in a state of nervousness, and although
Elizabeth tried to get the others to begin weaving their mat beds for
the hut, they had no heart for the work.  When darkness fell, they drew
the boat down to the very verge of high water, and lay in it, but not
to sleep.  They had arranged that each should take a turn at keeping
watch, but the result was that all were wakeful, and except for a few
minutes' uneasy dozing, none of them had any rest.

"This will never do," thought Elizabeth as it drew towards morning.
"We shall all be worn out if we don't get our proper sleep.  I do hope
the natives will come to us to-morrow so that we can make friends with
them."

They all looked very weary and washed-out when daylight came.  There
was no fish left, and Tommy seemed disinclined to try to catch any, or
to go to the banana-trees for food.

"Come, girls, this really won't do," said Elizabeth briskly.  "Make
some tea, Tommy, while Mary and I go and get a fish."

"There's only enough for about a cup each," said Tommy, looking
dolefully into the caddy.

"We shan't get any more by wishing for it," said Elizabeth, "so we'll
use it all up and then try to make a sort of cider out of bananas.  It
will be a change."

"There are hardly any bananas left, either," said Tommy.

"Then we'll go prowling in search of more as soon as we really come to
the last of them.  Come along, Mary."

"Don't go out of sight, will you?" said Tommy, as they moved away.

"Of course not, we shan't be long."

"I wish we had a change of things, Bess," said Mary, as they hastened
towards their fishing rock.  "Never in my life have I worn my underwear
so long; it's horrid."

"Why shouldn't we have a washing-day?" said Elizabeth.  "It will be a
novelty, and give us something to do and think about.  Rather fun too,
with no soap.  How can we manage?"

"I've read somewhere that the women in the East wash their clothes by
beating them in a running stream with stones," said Mary.  "The stream
and the stones are handy; we might try that plan."

"Don't the stones knock holes in them?"

"They use flat, round stones, without sharp edges, I think.  It will be
rather fun to try, anyway.  I hope the savages won't come, Bess."

"Do you know, I'm not at all sure that it wasn't the footprint of a
monkey or some other animal.  It was so very small.  I'm not going to
think about it.  We'd better go on in our ordinary way without
troubling; only for Tommy's sake we won't go far from home, for some
days at any rate."

They returned with two excellent fish.  Elizabeth at once told Tommy of
their idea of a washing-day, and, as she hoped, the young girl was so
much amused at the novelty of it, that she forgot her alarms for a
time.  After breakfast they took off their things and donned their
dressing-gowns, as Tommy called their macintoshes; and having gathered
each a smooth, round stone, laid their linen in the stream at a place
where it ran over level rock, and began merrily to pound away.  When
they had given the clothes a thorough good drubbing, as Tommy worded
it, they laid them on the grass in the sun, and within an hour they
were quite dry.

"My word! don't they look nice?" cried Tommy in delight.  "Old
Jane--poor old thing--never got them white at home, did she?  We must
have a weekly wash, girls; it's great fun."

"There's another thing we might try," said Elizabeth.  "I haven't got
used to eating fish without salt, yet.  Couldn't we make some by
evaporation?"

"How would you do that?" asked Tommy.

"Put some sea-water in our cups, and let it evaporate.  It would soon
do so in this heat, and leave the salt at the bottom."

"H'm! it sounds all right," said Tommy, "but I doubt whether we should
get enough salt to put on a bird's tail.  Let's try."

They half filled their three cups from the sea, and put them in the
full glare of the sun.  Every now and then Tommy ran to them to see hew
they were getting on, every time becoming more sceptical of success.
There was still a good deal of water in the cups at nightfall; but, as
Mary said, that didn't matter much, as they had used up all their tea,
none of them liking coffee at night; so they left the cups as they
were, to evaporate the rest of the water next day.  When the cups were
at last dry there was no appreciable sediment, and Tommy with great
scorn pronounced the experiment a failure.

"The cups don't hold enough," said Mary.  "What we want is a large
shallow pan, and as we haven't got one, I'm afraid you'll have to go
without salt, Bess."

But a day or two after, Elizabeth discovered a wide shallow depression
in a rock a little distance above high-water mark.

"This will do for a pan," she said.  "We'll fill it with sea-water with
our cups, and keep on filling it up as the water evaporates.  Then
we'll see, my dears."

They followed this plan for several days, and at last were able to
collect a fair quantity of salt.

"It isn't table salt, to be sure," said Elizabeth, looking at the
dirty-grey powder, "but it is certainly salt enough for anything, and
this quantity will last for a week at least."

"We are getting quite clever," said Mary.  "I dare say we shall be able
to make quite a lot of things by and by."

During these days they had seen no more signs of inhabitants, and their
nervousness partially wore off.  They were still careful, however, not
to stray far beyond the immediate neighbourhood of their camp, and
slept every night in the boat, which they left close to the brink of
the sea.  They devoted a good deal of time to weaving grass mats for
the floor of their hut, but had not as yet plucked up courage to spend
a night in it.  With the boat as a refuge they felt a certain sense of
security, though they admitted, when they talked about it, that it
would not really be of any great service if they were attacked; for
they could only escape by embarking, and then to drift on the sea out
of reach of food was a terrible fate to look forward to.

One day, when Mary had been out to gather bananas, she came back with
the news that she had gathered the very last one, so that they were
faced with the immediate necessity of finding another food supply.

"We must take our courage in both hands," said Elizabeth, "and revisit
the land of plenty beyond the ridge."

"Don't let's go near the orange-trees," said Tommy anxiously.
"Couldn't we try a little to the left?  There will surely be some fruit
of some sort in other parts."

"I don't see why not," said Mary.  "I don't want to go there again,
either, in case you were right."

"Of course I was right," declared Tommy.  "You aren't going to make out
again that I can't believe my own eyes!"

"We'll try another direction," said Elizabeth, anxious to keep the
peace.  "Let us go northward along the shore.  We have never really
explored the coast of our island yet."

Accordingly, after breakfast, they set out.  There was a long stretch
of beach strewn with boulders which had apparently fallen from the
cliffs.  These rose higher as they proceeded, and jutted out to within
twenty or thirty feet of high-water mark.  By and by they reached a
point where the huge rocky obstacles made further progress impossible.
Retracing their steps, they clambered with some difficulty up the face
of the cliff, and at last gained the high land above.

All this time they moved very cautiously, careful to make no more noise
than they could help, and always on the look-out for danger.  But the
silence was broken only by the chatter of birds, the warbling of a
blackbird now and then, and the harsh screaming of the parrots in the
woods, that extended almost to the verge of the cliffs.

"I should like to catch and tame one of those beauties," said Tommy.
"Perhaps I might teach him to talk, and that would be a change,
wouldn't it?"

"I am sorry we bore you," said Mary.  "Wouldn't it be better to find
your savage and teach him how to keep up an amiable conversation?"

"Don't be sarcastic; it doesn't suit you," said Tommy cuttingly, and
again Elizabeth had to intervene.

"We came out to look for food," she said smoothly, "and I think we had
better not think of anything else."

Mary and Tommy separated, and went off at a little distance by
themselves, looking among the trees and shrubs for fruits or berries
that might seem edible.  For a time none of the girls saw anything that
appeared promising, but presently Mary called out quite excitedly--

"Here, Bess, I'm sure this is the breadfruit tree.  Come and look."

Then, frightened by the sound of her own voice, she suddenly became
aware of her indiscretion, and ran fleetly to join Elizabeth.

"You idiot!" said Tommy in a fierce whisper, as she came up with the
others.

They stood listening for a while, wondering whether Mary's exclamation
had attracted the attention of some inhabitant.  But, reassured by the
absence of any sign of danger, they hastened to inspect the trees upon
which Mary had lighted.  Elizabeth noticed that Tommy, who would have
died rather than apologize, had slipped her hand into Mary's in token
of regret for her sharp speech.

They found themselves in the midst of a little grove of trees, about
the size of small oaks, but with much sparser foliage.  Peeping out
from among the long, indented leaves were several large round fruits
with a crinkly rind.

"I know they are breadfruit," said Mary gleefully.  "Don't you remember
the pictures in that book of Captain Cook's voyages?"

"Let's peel one and see how it tastes," said Tommy.

"You wouldn't like it better than raw dough," said Mary.  "It has to be
cooked first."

"Bother!  You know I don't like cooked fruit.  It isn't a fruit at all
if you can't eat it raw; it's a vegetable."

Elizabeth smiled at this ingenuous distinction.

"Let us take one each and go and try them," she suggested.  "If they
are really anything like bread we shall enjoy them, I know."

Laden with the fruits, they returned to their camp.

"Pity the place is so far from home," said Mary.  "We must have come
more than a mile, I should think."

"If we are satisfied with our bread we might come again and gather a
good load that will last some time," said Elizabeth.

When they reached home they lost no time in stripping off the thin rind
of one of the fruits, and found beneath it a white doughy substance
something like new bread.  Tommy could not forbear tasting it, in spite
of what Mary had said.

"What horrid, nasty stuff!" she exclaimed, making a wry face.  "It's
like--what is it like?  Taste it, Bess."

Elizabeth pinched off a very small piece and ate it.

"It seems to me like sweetened flour with a smack of artichokes," she
said.  "I hope it is better cooked; scrape it all out, Mary, while I
get the oven ready."

When the pulp was scraped out, Mary kneaded it into a flat cake and cut
it into three equal portions.  Elizabeth put them into the stone oven,
and in about twenty minutes took them out, slightly browned, and
smelling somewhat of new bread.  Allowing them to cool, the girls each
nibbled a little.

"Not half bad," said Tommy.  "I suppose we'll get used to it, and like
it better.  I never liked carrots when I was a child, and I do now.  If
we only had some butter!  Why aren't there any cocoanuts here, I
wonder?  They have milk, haven't they?  If we had some we might make
some butter out of the cream."

At this the other girls laughed outright.

"I'm afraid we shouldn't get much cream out of cocoanuts," said
Elizabeth.  "The milk is a sickly kind of juice, isn't it, Mary?"

"Yes; I had some once, long ago, when Father took me to the fair at
Exeter.  He knocked down the cocoanut at one of the shies.  I didn't
like the milk at all."

"We must eat our bread without butter," said Elizabeth.  "I do hope,
though, that we shall find more bananas, for I'm sure I shall soon get
tired of the breadfruit.  We must try another part of the island
another day."




CHAPTER XI

A TROPICAL STORM

Two or three days passed without incident.  The elder girls in their
heart of hearts were becoming convinced that the footprints must have
been those of an animal; but Tommy had shown herself so touchy on that
point that they never told her what they thought.  With the return of
their confidence they began to think that they were punishing
themselves by neglecting to use the hut, and one night they ventured to
sleep in it for the first time, lying on their grass mats, with pillows
of grass and dried leaves.  They found their new quarters so much more
easy and comfortable that they decided to use the boat no more as a
bedchamber, and thought they had been silly in not deserting it before.

The hut was delightfully cool both by day and night.  In the daytime
they always lifted the awning facing the sea; at night they let it down
at first, getting ventilation by the space beneath the roof; but as
they became accustomed to their bedroom they left the opening uncovered
at night also.  Before turning in they would sit cross-legged just
within the hut, gazing, most often in silence, over the wide expanse of
sea, watching the stars as they came into the darkening sky, and
thinking of their uncle and the friends at home.  Uncle Ben was
scarcely ever mentioned among them now.  They could not bear to think
that the dear old man was at the bottom of the sea, that could show
such a smooth and smiling face, and yet behave like a treacherous,
cruel monster.  They scarcely ever dared to think of the future, for
though they seldom missed a visit to the cliffs, from which they could
look far over the sea, and though their flag was still flying from the
tree, they had almost lost hope of being rescued, and could only live
from day to day, killing thought by various little activities.

One day, for instance, Elizabeth suggested that as their hut was built
and furnished, and they had little to do except fish and prepare their
food, they might make themselves some new hats.  The idea was eagerly
taken up by the others.  Each girl worked in her own way, plaiting
lengths of thin grass, and Mary hit on a brilliant notion of making
brims out of the large leaves from a kind of dwarf palm that grew
plentifully in the neighbourhood.  They fastened these together, and
then to the grass crowns, by threading them in and out with the very
fine tendrils of a creeper.  When the hats were finished the girls had
what Tommy called a mutual admiration meeting, and felt very proud of
their Dolly Vardens.

A few days after the discovery of the breadfruit, they made a lengthy
excursion along the southern shore.  Here the woods were a good deal
denser than in other parts, which was one reason why they had hesitated
to explore them.  But the cliffs were much less lofty than those on the
north, and the girls easily climbed them, and penetrated for a short
distance into the fringing woods.

They discovered several trees of kinds they had not seen before.  There
was one in particular that interested them by its fantastic shape; it
was so odd-looking that Tommy dubbed it the clown of the forest; the
real name, of which they were ignorant, was the pandanus.  But the
special reward of this expedition was the discovery of a thick
plantation of bananas and oranges, quite equal to those they had seen
on the dreaded eastern side of the ridge.  They rushed upon the oranges
that bestrewed the ground, devoured several, and filled their pockets
with them.  What with fish--they were expert fishers by this time--the
breadfruit, and this fresh storehouse, they felt no more anxiety about
food, and if only they could have lost their fear of possible wild
neighbours they would have had nothing to trouble the serenity of their
healthy life.  But none of them was as yet ready to tempt fate again by
crossing the ridge, and Elizabeth at any rate knew that while the
greater part of the island was shut to them, they could never be quite
easy in mind.  She felt that the uncertainty was even harder to bear
than knowledge would have been.

One day their peaceful existence was rudely disturbed, not by man, but
by nature.  The island was visited by a storm of quite extraordinary
violence.  The air had been for some time very oppressive, and the
girls, feeling incapable of any exertion, were resting in the hut, when
there came a sudden hot blast of wind straight in from the sea.  They
looked out.  Vast lurid clouds were piling up; in a few seconds, it
seemed, the sky became black, and huge waves broke over the reef,
sending up mountains of spray.  The wind tore through the woods,
increasing every moment in fury.  One terrible blast ripped the slight
hut to fragments, and the girls had no sooner extricated themselves
from the heap of tattered mats and broken canes that covered them, than
a flood of rain poured upon them.  They rushed away to the lee-side of
a hillock, trying in vain to find shelter from the storm, and cowering
in terror as they heard peals of thunder, and then a tremendous crash
as the tempest uprooted some great tree and dashed it to the ground.

Mary was always terror-stricken in a thunderstorm, and she clung
half-fainting to Elizabeth, who clasped her close in a motherly
embrace.  Tommy, on the other hand, was perfectly fearless.  She gazed
at the boiling sea, and watched the lightning with a sort of fascinated
admiration.  She was almost sorry when the storm blew itself out after
two hours of fury, and the sky cleared as rapidly as it had darkened.

"How lovely!" she said, dripping wet as she was.  "Poor old Mary!"

Mary, indeed, was quite overcome, and it was some time before she was
able to walk away.  The tempest had left ruin in its track.

"The boat!" cried Elizabeth, suddenly remembering the little vessel,
which, though it had been drawn up higher than when they slept in it,
she feared might have been washed away.  "We must leave you for a
little, Mary.  Walk about if you can, and let the sun dry your things."

Then she raced down to the shore with Tommy, and was horrified to
discover that the boat had disappeared.  The girls scanned the sea,
which was still rough, but there was not a sign of it.  They ran along
the beach northward, hoping that the boat might have been cast up, and
were rejoiced to find it about a quarter of a mile away, bottom upwards
on a spit of sand.  It was some distance from the sea, which, though it
had evidently come much higher than usual, had now receded to within a
little of high-water mark.  The girls managed to right the boat, only
to find, of course, that the oars were missing.

"How silly we were not to bring the oars into the hut along with the
boat-hook!" cried Elizabeth.  "The boat is perfectly useless without
the oars, and we can't make new ones."

"Perhaps the tide will wash them up," said Tommy.  "Help me up this
rock, Bess; I'll see if they are in sight."

Mounted on the rock she scanned the surface, and after a time saw
something bobbing up and down about a hundred yards out, and some way
to the south of where she stood.

"There it is, I believe," she cried.  "The sea is getting calmer now;
shall I swim out for it?"

"You mustn't think of it," said Elizabeth.  "I dare say the sea is full
of sharks.  I saw a fin yesterday when we were fishing."

"And you didn't tell me!  I should love to see a real live shark."

Elizabeth smiled inwardly at this.

"But we must get the oar somehow, Bess.  One would be better than
nothing.  And quickly, too.  See, the tide is running out fast.  And if
the oar gets into the current that flows past the reef, it is good-bye
for ever."

"I don't see how we can.  We haven't a paddle of any kind.  The
boat-hook's no good.  Wait, though; I wonder if we could get a branch
of a tree.  Stay here and keep the oar in sight while I run and look."

She ran up the cliff-side, which was covered with vegetation.  The
small trees had withstood the storm better than the large ones.  Some
were cracked and broken, but others had merely bent to the blast, while
the ground was strewn with the more massive trunks, and with
innumerable small branches and twigs.  In a little while she came to a
tree that had two boughs forming a fork, in shape like a boy's
catapult.  Catching hold of this, and straining upon it, Elizabeth
managed to break it off; it had occurred to her that the fork might
form the skeleton of a paddle.  But time was too precious for her to
attempt to make it by herself alone, so she ran with it to Mary.

"Quick, Mary," she cried.  "Pull yourself together.  We have found the
boat, but the oars are gone, and one is floating out to sea.  Help me
to make a paddle, so that we can go after it.  Get some creepers and
some leaves as quickly as you can.  I'll show you what I mean."

There was no lack of material close at hand, and they were soon busily
at work making a sort of criss-cross lattice-work upon the fork, which
they notched at intervals with their knives, to give holding to the
tendrils.  Having rapidly made their framework, they laid the leaves on
it, and bound these on with more creepers.  Before they had finished it
as Elizabeth would have liked, they heard Tommy's shrill voice calling--

"Quick, Bess, the oar's going out fast."

Elizabeth jumped up, carrying the odd-looking paddle, which Tommy said
was like a lacrosse stick.  The oar was now out of sight, though Tommy
could point to the spot where she saw it last.  They launched the boat,
and using the paddle as a stern-oar, Tommy employed all the skill she
had gained by paddling the dinghy to and from the shore at Southampton.
The paddle was a very poor thing; it bent a good deal, and some of the
tendrils became loose, and hung about it like the string of an old
cricket bat.  But there was no time to stop and repair it, or the oar,
which they now saw clearly, would drift past the reef and utterly
beyond reach.

Elizabeth began to grow a little anxious in case they should find
themselves adrift by and by with nothing better than the makeshift
paddle, which would certainly not last more than a very short time.
That would be a calamity indeed, for they might be carried far out to
sea, and there was Mary alone on the island.  But Tommy was working so
energetically that the distance between the boat and the oar was fast
lessening, and Elizabeth, raising herself in her seat, suddenly caught
sight of the second oar not far beyond the first.

"Let me take your place, Tommy," she said.  "You must be tired."

"Not a bit.  Besides, we'll lose time if we change, and perhaps upset.
Stay where you are, Bess; I'll get that oar in a minute, and then we'll
soon have the other one."

A few more strokes brought the boat within reach of the oar, and
Elizabeth, bending over, drew it up.  Then Tommy left the stern and
both sat on the thwarts, pulling towards the second oar, which they
overtook in a few seconds.

"We'll keep the paddle as a memento," said Elizabeth.  "But look!  What
a terrible distance we are from the shore!  Mary will be half frantic."

"It's lucky that we are inside the reef," said Tommy.  "Already I can
feel the current quite strong.  We shall have to pull hard to get out
of it!"

By this time Tommy was rather tired, but she would not give in.  It was
a long pull back, and at first it seemed impossible to draw the boat
out of the current that was rapidly bearing it northward.  But having
now two good oars, they succeeded presently in getting back into calmer
water.  Then, turning the boat's head southward, they rowed more gently
along the shore, and at last reached their own little harbour, where
Mary was awaiting them.

"I _am_ thankful you have got back safely," she cried.  "When I saw you
going so far I nearly went mad for fear you couldn't return."

"We must take care it never happens again," said Elizabeth.  "We'll
drag the boat up much higher this time, and if we tie the painter to a
rock, or to a tree if there's one near enough, we needn't be anxious,
and we'll certainly keep the oars in the hut."

"My dears, we haven't a hut," said Tommy.  "We be three poor
mariners--vagabonds, homeless, ragged and tanned.  Who was that old
king who sat himself down in a lonely mood to think, and watched a
spider spin its web over and over again, and thought he couldn't let a
spider beat him and at last beat all his enemies?  Oh, dear, that's
made me out of breath.  Robert Bruce, wasn't it, Mary?"

"Yes; Mrs. Hemans wrote the poem.  'Bruce and the Spider,' it's called."

"I don't care who wrote it, only we've got to spin our web again.  Oh,
'Will you walk into my parlour?' said the spider to the fly.  'Please
'm, where's the parlour?' says the fly.  There, I'm a lunatic, but I
feel so jolly at having caught those runaway oars.  I say, are you dry?
I am.  That's one advantage of living in a tropical climate; if you get
soaked you don't have to shiver while your things are dried at the
fire.  'Homeless, ragged and tanned, who so contented as I?'" she sang,
and Elizabeth, noticing the high spirits of her wild young sister,
hoped that there wouldn't be a reaction, and that Tommy was not going
to be ill.




CHAPTER XII

ALARMS AND DISCOVERIES

Contemplating the ruins of the hut they had built up with so much care,
the girls felt a very natural chagrin.  You have seen a child who has
erected a fine house of bricks fly into a rage when the structure
topples by its own weight, or at least look utterly woebegone, and
leave the scattered bricks lying where they fell.  Elizabeth Westmacott
and her sisters felt very much the same disinclination to begin again.
The site was a picture of disorder.  Portions of the matting had been
blown right away; other portions in shreds and tatters had found
resting-places among the foliage of the surrounding trees and shrubs.
Some of the canes of the roof dangled from the boughs, others littered
the ground amid a tangle of creepers and leafage.  No one could have
supposed that only a few hours before the same place had been a model
of neatness.

"It will take an age to tidy up," grumbled Tommy.  "Is it worth while
to bother about a hut again?"

"I don't like being without a roof over our heads," replied Elizabeth;
"but we won't start yet if you don't feel inclined.  Let us go and take
a look round."

"We shall want some breadfruit for dinner," said Mary, "so we had
better go that way.  I dare say we shall find all we need on the
ground."

They set off towards the breadfruit-trees.  Everywhere there were signs
of the violence of the storm, but they were surprised and interested to
notice that the worst havoc had been wrought in almost a straight line
across the island from south-west to north-east.

It was as though some huge giant had gone steadily forward wielding a
monstrous scythe.  The tornado had cut a clean path through the forest,
leaving scarcely a tree standing over a wide space.  Where there had
been close, unbroken woodland was now a bare avenue, interrupted by the
trunks of trees that had been thrown this way and that.  Impressed as
the girls had been with the fury of the tornado during the time of
their exposure to it, its devastating power was brought home to them
now much more strongly.  They looked with awe upon its ravages.

"How thankful we ought to be that we were not in its direct path!" said
Elizabeth.  "A little more to right or left and we should have had
trees crashing down upon us; we might have all been killed."

"It is a dreadful place," said Tommy, subdued and thoughtful.  "Oh,
Bess, shall we never be found and taken away?"

"We must hope on, dear.  It will never do to get downhearted.  While we
are all well and strong we need not mind so very much, and a ship is
sure to come this way some time or other."

"But it might pass us," said Mary.  "I am sure our flag is blown away.
Shall we go and see?"

"Hadn't we better fetch our breadfruit first, now we are in this
direction?"

"Of course.  We shall have to light another fire, too; ours is sure to
be out."

They went on, and on arriving at the breadfruit plantation found, as
they had expected, that the ground was littered with fruit, which was
already being devoured by land-crabs, insects and birds.  They picked
up several that were in good condition, and retraced their steps
towards the shore.

As they were passing through the fringe of woodland, Tommy stopped
suddenly, and went down on her knees.

"Oh, do look!" she cried.  "Here's a nest on the ground, and the
dearest little white parrot you ever saw.  Poor little thing!  I think
it has lost its mother."

The girls stooped to look at it, and Tommy put her hand into the nest.
The tiny bird rustled in alarm, opening its beak to let out a plaintive
cry; but it was too young to use its wings, and Tommy took it up and
held it gently.

"Its little heart is beating frantically," she said.  "Let us take it
back with us and try to rear it.  You know I wanted one."

"Do you think we can rear it?" said Mary.

"It will starve if we leave it," replied Tommy.  "I shall love to try."

The others agreed that there was no harm in trying, so Tommy carried it
carefully back with her, now and then stroking the ruffled feathers.
When they got to their camp she laid the bird on a bed of grass, peeled
one of the breadfruits, and held a few crumbs of the pulp in the palm
of her hand just below the parrot's beak.  But it was too young, or
perhaps too frightened, even to feed itself, and it would have fared
ill had not its captor been a country girl and known how to deal with
such an emergency.  She had seen young birds fed by hand, and she at
once cut a thin stick and sharpened its end, upon which she stuck a
little bit of breadfruit.  Then holding the bird in her left hand, she
waited until it opened its beak to cry, and quickly slipped the food
in.  The little bird swallowed it greedily, much to Tommy's delight,
and she went on feeding it until Elizabeth suggested that she would
kill it with excess.

"The poor thing was hungry," said Tommy.  "It's not nearly so much
alarmed now.  I shall keep it for a pet."

"You'll have to clip its wings, then," said Mary, "or it is sure to fly
away as soon as it is strong enough."

"You do it, Mary.  Be very gentle, won't you?"

"There's no need yet, perhaps," suggested Elizabeth.  "Do it in a day
or two when it has got over its fright.  It would be just as well to
put it in the boat while we are busy.  You must take care not to
overfeed it, Tommy."

After dinner they went first to the flag-staff.  Not a shred of their
scarves was left.  As they had no material for making another flag,
except their handkerchiefs, which they did not care to part with, and
their wraps, which they could not spare, they had to give up for the
moment any idea of erecting a signal.  Then they hastened in the
opposite direction, southward, to fetch bananas and oranges for the
other meals of the day.  A grave disappointment awaited them.  There
was plenty of fruit on the ground, but the trees themselves, standing
in the direct path of the storm, had all been uprooted or broken off,
so that when they had used their present supply they could obtain no
more at this spot.  It would be necessary to go once more in search of
food, for they found the breadfruit too insipid to form their only
vegetable diet.  They knew the district between their camp and the
ruined plantation; nothing edible was to be had there.  The only other
place where they knew that fruit existed was to the east, beyond the
ridge; and even now they could not make up their minds to revisit the
scene of their scare.

Next day, however, when Tommy had fed her bird and Mary had clipped its
wings, and they had spent an hour or so tidying up the site of the hut
preparatory to rebuilding, they set off again in a southerly direction,
having resolved to extend their exploration within easy distance of the
shore.  Crossing the broad path of uprooted trees, flattened grass, and
torn undergrowth, they found as they proceeded that the ridge hemmed
them in, closer and closer to the sea.  This was partly due to the
curving of the shore, and partly to the diagonal lie of the rising
ground.  Little foothills of the ridge extended downwards towards the
coast, forming ridges in miniature, cut here and there by streamlets.

On such expeditions Tommy almost always led the way, for her restless
and active temperament was impatient of the sedater going of her
sisters.  But she never went far ahead, and every few minutes, as if
alarmed at her own daring, she would run back and keep with the others
for a time.  She was thus a few yards in advance when, as she mounted a
hillock, she came in sight of a number of trees clustering almost at
the edge of the sea, and uttered an exclamation of surprise and
pleasure.

"Oh, do look here!" she cried.  "I believe we have come to some
cocoanut palms.  You remember we saw some at Valparaiso."

The others ran to join her, and Mary at once declared that she was
right.  There was no mistaking the tall, smooth stems with their
feathery crowns.  They all rushed forward eagerly.  Thanks to the
storm, there were several huge nuts strewing the ground around each of
the trees.  Tommy, who was first on the scene, picked up one of them
and turned it over in her hands in a puzzled way.

"Is it a cocoanut after all?" she said.  "It's not a bit like those I
have seen in shops."

"It's a cocoanut right enough," replied Mary.  "But you've got to strip
off the outer husk before you come to the nut itself."

Tommy whipped out her knife and began to cut away the coarse, fibrous
covering.  It was very tough, and she soon declared that it would never
come off unless the others helped her.  So they all knelt on the ground
with the nut in the middle, and employed their knives energetically,
until at last the husk was removed.  The shell inside was ivory-white,
very different from the old brown nuts they had been used to see in
England.  Being quite brittle, a small piece was easily cut off the
top, and they saw the inside full of a pale, milky liquid.

"You first, Tommy," said Elizabeth.  "You saw the trees first."

Tommy took a sip of the liquid.

"Delicious!" she said.  "I don't think I ever tasted anything so nice."

She drank more, and, handing the nut to Mary, continued--

"It's sweet, Bess, and sour too, something like lemonade, only not like
it.  It's like--oh, I don't know what it's like; just itself, I
suppose.  Don't drink it all, Mary."

Elizabeth, when her turn came, pronounced it a very refreshing drink,
and they were all delighted at so welcome an addition to their larder.
They collected as many nuts as they could carry, and, returning to
their camp, stored them in the boat.  In the course of the next few
days they went several times to the same place, until they had brought
back all the nuts that lay on the ground.  It was fortunate that so
many had been thrown down, for they did not see how they could have
obtained them otherwise.  Even Tommy, the climber of the family,
confessed that she would have been beaten by the smooth, straight stem
of the cocoanut palm.  Mary had a dim recollection of reading that the
natives had a way of climbing the trees by means of a rope, but she
could not remember the details of the method, and in any case, Tommy
could hardly have used it successfully without a good deal of practice.

Once more relieved from anxiety about food, the girls devoted
themselves industriously to the reconstruction of their hut.  Their
former practice made their task easier.  In a few days the new house
was finished, and they were especially glad of its shelter at night,
instead of the cramping narrowness of the boat.

Days had lengthened into weeks.  The notches on their calendar trunk
told them how time was flying--a sad reminder in many ways.  With so
little to do they felt the hours hang heavily on their hands, though
Tommy's parrot gave them a little amusement and interest.  The bird had
become quite used to its mistress, and had learnt to take its food from
her hand.  Its voice, not of very charming quality, as all confessed,
grew stronger, and it became accustomed to give a quaint little scream
whenever Tommy approached.  She would set it on her finger and talk to
it, using the same word over and over again, in the hope that it would
by and by pick up a phrase or two.  But although it became perfectly
tame, it could never be induced to substitute civilized words for its
natural scream and squawk.

"You little silly-billy!" cried Tommy one day, after an hour's patient
instruction.  "What's the good of you for a pet?  There!  Perch on my
shoulder, and don't make such an idiotic noise, for goodness' sake."

Tommy at last gave up the attempt in despair; but she became very fond
of the bird, and declared that when they were rescued she would
certainly take it home with her.

It was wonderful how the hope of rescue never died.  When each day
ended without the sight of the longed-for vessel, they would say,
"Never mind, perhaps it will come to-morrow."  And when to-morrow had
the same disappointment, there was still to-morrow.  So they lived from
day to day, veering from hope to despondency, and from despondency to
hope again.

They had almost forgotten Tommy's fright.  Surely, they thought, they
must have seen some one by this time if the island was inhabited.  Yet
there was the same misgiving, the same disinclination to cross the
ridge.  Elizabeth laughed at herself, and more than once said she
really must break through her reluctance.  But it ended there.  Her
heart failed her when it came to the point.

Easy though their life was, it had its discomforts.  The breadfruit
gave out, and having found no more oranges or bananas, they grew very
tired of a diet of fish and cocoanuts.  They had seen other fruits, and
shrubs bearing berries that looked very enticing, but the fear of
poison deterred them from trying anything that they did not know.

The want of a change of clothes, too, was a trouble to them, and their
boots had become unwearable.  They had often been soaked in sea-water,
and then, drying in the sun, had cracked and become worse than useless.
They got into the habit of going barefoot, except when they set out for
a long walk.  In the hut, and when walking on the grass, they were
comfortable enough, but on rough ground they suffered a good deal at
first.  In course of time, however, helped by frequent soaking in
sea-water, their feet became hardened, and they felt no inconvenience
in going about unshod.

They had more than once noticed some very small bees, hardly larger
than houseflies, flitting among the flowers.  One day Elizabeth
suggested that they should try to find out whether these Polynesian
bees made honey, and if so, where it was.  Tommy hailed the suggestion,
and started at once to track the bees to their nests.  For a long time
she had no success.  Only after many days did she, almost by accident,
light upon a bees'-nest in a hole in the trunk of a tree.  Informing
her sisters of the discovery, she proposed that they should smoke the
bees out.

They kindled a small fire at the base of the tree, immediately beneath
the hole.  When they thought they had allowed plenty of time for the
smoke to stupefy the bees, they put on their macintoshes, pulling the
hoods well down over their heads, and prepared to rifle the hole.  It
was so small that a hand could scarcely pass through it, and Mary
suggested that they should enlarge it, so that they might see what they
were doing.  Accordingly they stripped off the bark round the hole,
until it was much more capacious.  Unluckily, the inrush of fresh air
appeared to revive the little inhabitants, which darted out with fierce
buzzings, putting the robbers to utter rout.  They ran off with their
heads down, waving their arms wildly to beat off the furious insects.
Tommy got off scot free, but Elizabeth and Mary were stung slightly,
and but for the smoking, which had not been wholly ineffectual, the
bees would probably have hurt them severely.

"We won't be beaten by a parcel of silly bees," said Tommy, as they
went home.  "You aren't much hurt, are you?"

"I feel a burning spot in my cheek," said Elizabeth.

"And one of my fingers is swelling," added Mary.

"As we haven't any ointment, or anything, you'll just have to get well
by yourselves," remarked Tommy.  "You'll have another try, won't you?"

"Oh, yes!  We'll give them a larger dose next time," said Elizabeth.
"I think we ought to have some reward for our enterprise."

A day or two afterwards they visited the hole again.  By means of a
larger fire, fed with leaves that gave off a very pungent smoke, they
managed to stupefy the bees thoroughly.  When they examined the hole
they were surprised to find, not large combs, as in an English hive,
but a collection of bags of brown wax, about the size of a walnut,
united in a regular mass.

"Fancy bees having foreign ways!" said Tommy.  "I should have thought
that bees were the same all the world over."

"I don't see why bees shouldn't be different, like people," said Mary.
"They're very intelligent."

The others laughed at this curious reason for differences of habit.
The honey, they found, was more fluid than they were accustomed to in
England, and in taste and smell it was slightly scented.  They took a
good quantity home with them, but it did not go very well with fish,
and even with cocoanuts it was a doubtful joy.

"If we only had some breadfruit, or even bananas, we should like it
better," said Mary.

"We can only get those by going across the ridge again," said
Elizabeth.  "Shall we venture?"

"I won't," said Tommy decidedly.  "I'm not going to be scared out of my
wits for anybody."

"I'll go with you, Bess," said Mary, after a little hesitation.  "It
really is silly to be afraid of nothing."

But, as it turned out, the first of the three to brave the peril was,
after all, Tommy herself.




CHAPTER XIII

LOST

That night, for the first time in their residence on the island, the
girls were awakened by a patter of rain.  Only once before had rain
fallen, and that was during the tornado.  Now the sound of it upon the
thatch of the hut was very slight, but the girls slept so lightly that
a whisper was almost enough to disturb them.

"I hope we are not in for another smash up," said Elizabeth, finding
that her sisters were both awake.

"There's no wind at present," returned Mary.  "Rain alone won't hurt
us.  I expect it's the rainy season beginning, and we shall have weeks
of it."

"How disgusting!" exclaimed Tommy.  "I always hated having to stay
indoors, and it will be worse than ever here, with no cosy fire and
nice story-book.  What's the time, Bess?"

She leant over towards Elizabeth, who lay next to her, and showed a
light with her match-lighter.  Elizabeth looked at her watch, which she
never forgot to wind.

"It's about four o'clock," she said.

"Time for another snooze before daylight," said Tommy, snuggling down
again into her wraps.  In a minute or two she was fast asleep.

The other girls remained wide awake, and talked quietly together.

"I wish we knew our whereabouts better," said Elizabeth.  "If we only
knew what those islands are that we have seen in the distance, we might
perhaps row to one of them and find friends."

"Yes; of course there are missionaries," said Mary.  "Don't you
remember Uncle Ben told us of a friend of his who was returning to his
station?  What was his name, Bess?"

"I forget.  We can't venture across the sea, can we?"

"Oh, no!  There are thousands of islands, and I believe some have never
been visited by white people at all.  We might land among cannibals!"

"We are certainly better off here.  I can't believe there are any
people on this island, in spite of Tommy, or why haven't we seen
something of them?  We'll go to the ridge after breakfast, as we said,
and settle the matter once for all."

"Supposing there _are_ people?" said Mary.

"As I said before, I think we ought to try and make friends with them,
and if they seem inclined to be unfriendly, perhaps we could make them
afraid of us.  Tommy's match-lighter would startle them, wouldn't it?"

"It might, but I don't like to think of having to rely on that sort of
thing for our safety.  They would soon find out our real weakness, and
then----  Oh!  I do hope we shall not see anybody.  We should be so
much more uncomfortable."

"Tommy's birthday is somewhere about now.  We can't be quite sure of
the date, because we didn't begin to cut notches at once; but we should
be right within a day or two.  The present she would like best would be
some oranges from beyond the ridge, and certain news that the island is
uninhabited."

"How strange it seems to hope that there are no human beings near us!
Do you know, Bess, I think the people of these islands must be very
melancholy."

"Why should you think that?  I have always supposed them to be a happy,
light-hearted folk, with not a care in the world."

"But they have nothing to do.  Their food grows for them without work,
and they don't need many clothes.  They've no books to read, no
amusements----"

"How do you know that?"

"Well, what amusements can they have?  Isn't it only civilized people
who play games?"

"I don't know.  I seem to remember that even savages gamble, if that is
amusement; it wouldn't be to me if I lost."

"Then you're no sport, Bess," said Tommy, who had awakened and caught
the last few words.  "It's the excitement they like, whether they win
or lose.  I should be a dreadful gambler, I know, if I had the chance."

"Then I hope you will never have it, dear," said Elizabeth.  "It is an
unhealthy excitement, I am sure.  We were talking about your birthday,
Tommy.  It might be yesterday, to-day, or to-morrow, but you are
fourteen.  We'll wish you many happy returns now."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't reminded me," cried Tommy.  "Think of being
fifteen and sixteen, and twenty, and getting old on this island!  I
don't want to grow old at all, and it would be dreadful here.  I'd be a
scullery maid, or a beggar girl--anything in England, rather than stay
here.  Shall we ever get away?"

And Tommy nestled to Elizabeth's side, and as she lay encompassed by
her elder sister's arms she prayed with all her heart that God would
send help to them soon.

When dawn broke and they got up, it was a dreary world upon which they
looked.  Sea and earth were covered with a clinging mist.  A drizzle
was falling.  Everything was sodden and forlorn.  The fire was out, and
there were no dry sticks for re-lighting it.  They had to content
themselves with a breakfast of cocoanuts, and then they sat inside the
hut, too much depressed in spirit to go out, or do anything but watch
the rain.

Presently the drizzle became a downpour, which, went on for an hour or
two, then suddenly ceased, the sun bursting through the leaden sky.
They took advantage of this to gather a quantity of twigs, which they
carried into the hut to dry there.  Elizabeth had just suggested that
Mary and she should start on their expedition to the ridge, when a
sharp shower drove them again to shelter.  So it went on all day--heavy
showers that lasted for a few minutes alternating with brief, bright
intervals.

There was no doubt that the rainy season had begun.  The girls were
practically confined to the hut for many days in succession, only
sallying forth to catch fish, which they cooked at a new stove built
nearer the hut.  The showers were sometimes light, sometimes very
heavy, and at last the rain began to drip through the thatched roof,
and the girls had to sit in their macintoshes.  Though the sun appeared
every now and then, it did not shine long enough to dry the ground
before another downpour soaked it.  They all became very low-spirited,
and could not find any occupation to pass away the time, for even
weaving was impossible with the sodden grass.

Their troubles came to a climax one day when Mary complained of a
racking headache.  Feeling her hot brow, Elizabeth feared she had taken
a fever, no doubt owing to the exhalation from the damp earth working
on a lowered system.  She and Tommy felt much concern, which became
real alarm when they found Mary rapidly becoming worse.  She could not
eat, and lay on her mat bed covered with the macintoshes and wraps of
the other girls, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright and glassy.
Towards evening, when Elizabeth had left the hut to fetch water for the
night, and Tommy sat by the invalid, she was startled to hear Mary
talking in a very strange way.

"No milk to-day--there's something wrong with Dapple--Jane, Uncle Ben's
coming to-morrow.  Don't forget the----"  Then her voice died away into
an indistinguishable muttering.  Presently Tommy caught more phrases:
"Oh, no, no!  They'll eat us: don't let Tommy go.  Bess!  Bess! they're
coming after me!--Dan will carry the luggage, Uncle!"

So she raved on, in her delirium babbling about the farm, the ship, her
friends, a word every now and again showing how much the fear of
cannibals had occupied the background of her mind.  Tommy was
terrified.  She had never seen any one delirious except her father just
before he died, and she was smitten with an agonizing fear that Mary
would not recover.

"Oh, Bess, she's out of her mind!" she cried piteously, as Elizabeth
returned.  "What shall we do?"

Elizabeth went quickly to the bed, dipped a handkerchief in the water
she had brought, and laid it on Mary's fevered head.

"We must sit up with her to-night," she said.  "Don't give way, Tommy
dear.  She will soon be better.  The fever came on so suddenly that I
am sure it is one of those sharp attacks that don't last long.  But it
will leave her very weak, and we must be very careful of her.  I do so
wish we had some oranges; the juice is so cooling."

But it was too late to think of looking for oranges, and they had to be
satisfied with water and cocoanut milk, which they gave Mary in sips.
All night long they remained at her side, watching her with distress as
her teeth chattered as if with cold, and then next moment she tossed
about on her little mat bed, and flung the macintoshes off as if she
could not bear the heat.  Elizabeth tried to induce Tommy to lie down
for a little, but the young girl refused, saying that she could not
rest until she knew that Mary was better.

"I will get some oranges to-morrow," said Elizabeth.  "I am sure they
will do her good."

Towards morning Mary dropped off to sleep, and then Tommy was persuaded
to lie down.  The sun had risen when she awoke to find Elizabeth still
watching over her sleeping sister.

"I'll just run down to the stream and bathe my face," said Elizabeth.
"She is still asleep.  Give her a little water if she wakes; I shan't
be long.  Luckily, it's a fine morning."

She returned in a few minutes.

"Now you run down and wash, Tommy," she said; "it'll freshen you.  I've
put in some fish to bake for breakfast."

Tommy rose and left the hut.  During Elizabeth's absence she had strung
herself up to a great resolution.  Mary must have oranges, but the one
to fetch them should not be Elizabeth.  She was so calm and steady and
capable that she would do far better to stay and look after Mary.  "I
can be best spared," thought Tommy, "but I know Bess won't let me go if
I propose it.  I shall just do it without telling her.  It won't take
long to scamper to the orange grove and back again."

She had not forgotten her former fright; but she told herself that
perhaps she might get to the oranges without being observed, and she
was ready to do anything for Mary, of whom she was very fond, though
they sparred sometimes.  So, after bathing her face in the stream, she
went to the stove and scratched on the sand in front of it with her
knife the words, "Gone to the orange grove."  Then, without waiting,
for fear her courage failed, she ran swiftly along the bank of the
stream, munching a piece of cocoanut as she went.

In the hut Mary had awakened perfectly sensible, and wondering why she
felt so weak.  Elizabeth bathed her face and hands, smoothed her hair,
and having tried to make her a little more comfortable, gave her a
drink of cocoanut milk.

"What's the matter with me, Bess?" she asked.

"You've had a touch of fever.  You'll soon be all right again.  I'm
going to get you some oranges presently.  You will enjoy them."

"Yes, I shall.  Have I been ill long?  I feel as weak as anything."

"Only one night, dear.  We shall have to feed you up.  You ought to
have beef tea or chicken broth, of course; but we shall have to do the
best we can.  I think we must try to snare a bird of some sort."

"Where's Tommy?"

"Just run down to wash.  I dare say she'll bring back the fish with
her.  I put some to bake.  You could eat a little, couldn't you?"

"I'll try, but I don't feel much like eating.  I want to go to sleep
again."

And, indeed, in a few minutes she was sleeping.  "The very best thing
she could do," said Elizabeth to herself.

A quarter of an hour passed and Tommy had not returned.  "I wonder why
she is lagging," thought Elizabeth.  She went to the entrance of the
hut and looked down towards the shore.  The trees hid the stove from
her, and she did not call out for fear of waking Mary.  She went back
into the hut and sat down; but after five minutes, when there was still
no Tommy, her vague wonder grew into a slight feeling of alarm.  Seeing
that Mary was still asleep, she went out again, and ran swiftly down
towards the stove, glancing to the left with a half expectation of
discovering Tommy fishing on the rocks.  But Tommy was not in sight,
and Elizabeth soon learnt why, as her eye caught the scribble on the
sand.

"How plucky!" she thought.  "But the child will be terrified before she
gets there; I had better fetch her back."

But with a moment's reflection she saw that she could not expect to
catch Tommy before she reached the top of the ridge.  If there was any
danger Tommy would have run into it by the time she could be overtaken.
Mary was so weak that Elizabeth did not care to leave her for long; but
she ran some distance up the stream, as far as the broad, bare avenue
made by the storm, and then was on the point of giving a shrill call
when she checked herself.  The sound might cause the very harm she
wished to avoid.  Perturbed, and somewhat vexed as well, she hastened
back, feeling that at present Mary must be her chief care.  She
reflected that, after all, though they had been now more than two
months on the island, they had never met any other person, and had no
real reason to think it was inhabited.  Surely if the object Tommy had
seen was actually a human being, they would by this time have had other
evidence of his existence.  Thus reassuring herself, she hurried back,
took out of the oven the fish that was already over-baked, and regained
the hut.  To her great relief Mary was still fast asleep.  Elizabeth
dreaded the effect upon her if she suspected that anything had happened
to Tommy.

As she ate her breakfast, reserving some of the fish for Tommy, she
felt decidedly annoyed at the young girl's escapade.  Tommy ought to
have mentioned what she intended, thought Elizabeth.  But Tommy had
been from her earliest years impulsive and heedless, so that her
present disobedience--for so Elizabeth had come to regard it,
forgetting that no instructions had been given--was quite apiece with
former instances.  Then Elizabeth made amends to Tommy in her heart.
"She has been very good all this time," she thought.  "I do wish she
would come back."

But the hours dragged by, and still Tommy had not appeared.  Mary
awoke, and looking round the hut, inquired again for Tommy.

"She has run up to get some oranges," said Elizabeth, as calmly as she
could, though she felt very troubled.

"Tommy has?" said Mary, in surprise.  "Gone alone to where she saw the
face?  Oh, you shouldn't have let her, Bess."

"I wouldn't have, only I did not know.  She scrawled on the sand to say
that she had gone.  I suppose she thought I would make a better nurse
than she."

"She's a dear, brave girl," said Mary, "and I shall like the oranges
all the better."

Elizabeth got her to eat a little fish, cold as it now was, and
presently she dropped off to sleep again.  It was past dinner-time; the
sun was very hot, and Elizabeth, thoroughly alarmed at Tommy's
protracted absence, wondered if, after her trying night, she had been
overcome by the heat, and was, perhaps, lying helpless somewhere.  She
felt that she must try to find her; so, slipping out of the hut, she
ran as fast as her feet would carry her up through the woods, never
pausing until she had crossed the ridge and come to the orange grove.
She had looked about her as she ran, and, now regardless of
consequences, had called Tommy several times, but she saw neither her
nor any living person, and there was no answer to her calls.

At the grove there were oranges and bananas scattered here and there on
the ground, so that Tommy's absence could not be due to any difficulty
in obtaining what she came for.  And then Elizabeth's heart stood still
as she noticed at one spot, a strange collection of objects.  There
were four or five oranges on the ground close together, and with them
Tommy's knife, the little stick she had fed her parrot with, a piece of
hair-ribbon, and a wedge of cocoanut.  What had happened?  These
objects were obviously the contents of Tommy's pocket; why had she
placed them there, and where was she?  Had she been startled?  Had some
natives come stealthily upon her, and seized her?  Would they not at
least have taken the knife at the same time?

Elizabeth felt a shiver of fear, along with utter bewilderment.  But
she crushed down her uneasy imaginings and, placing Tommy's belongings
in her pocket, began to search among the trees, shouting from time to
time, no matter who might hear her.  Suddenly her eye was caught by the
flutter of a small coloured object at some distance among the bushes.
With a thrill of hope she hastened towards it, but long before she
reached it, she realized that her hope was vain; the object was only a
bit of tattered cloth attached to one of the line of poles they had
seen on their former visit.  Retracing her steps to the orange grove,
she went in and out among the trees, shouting Tommy's name again and
again.  Her distress at Tommy's disappearance was coupled with anxiety
about Mary.  It was now a considerable time since she had left the hut,
and she felt that, with Mary so weak and helpless, she could not stay
to search any longer.  Thrusting a few oranges into her pocket for the
invalid, she hastened back, conscious that she herself was weak and
shaky.  The long, anxious search in the fierce sunlight, following a
sleepless night, had been almost too much for her strength.

She tried to enter the hut unconcernedly, with a dim hope that Tommy
might have returned before her.  Mary was awake.

"Why did you leave me?" she said, in the querulous tone of an invalid,
her eyes filling with tears.  "I've called and called for you and
Tommy, but you wouldn't come.  I am so miserable."

"Here are some oranges, dear," said Elizabeth gently.  "I will squeeze
the juice into a cup for you.  It will do you good."

"Thank you so much.  I'm a wretched bad patient, Bess dear, but I got
it into my silly head that you had deserted me.  Ridiculous, wasn't it?
This is delicious.  It was kind of Tommy to get them for me.  Where is
she?"

Elizabeth was in a quandary.  Mary seemed a little better; her
querulousness was a good sign; but it would not further her recovery to
tell her that Tommy was missing.  On the other hand, Elizabeth herself
was so much distressed that she would have liked to pour out her
troubles to a sympathetic ear.  But she thought it best to keep the bad
news to herself for the present, and said---

"She must have quite recovered her courage, and gone roaming.  You are
getting on, aren't you, dear?"

"Yes, only rather weak still.  But these oranges are delicious.  I feel
much refreshed.  Don't sit up with me to-night, Bess; I am sure I shall
be all right, and you mustn't wear yourself out.  Put some oranges near
me, so that I can get one in the night without disturbing you."

She soon fell asleep again, and did not awaken until it was quite dark.
She was careful not to disturb her sister, and so did not become aware
until the morning that Tommy had not returned.  Elizabeth had spent a
sleepless night, and felt quite worn out when day broke.  Mary was
quick to notice her distress, of which she knew she could not be the
cause, since she was so much better.

"You are hiding something, Bess.  Tell me; has something happened to
Tommy?"

Elizabeth, on the verge of a breakdown, was glad to pour out the whole
story.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me before!" cried Mary.  "You must go at once
and look for her again.  There is really nothing the matter with me
now.  Do, please, go, Bess.  It is awful to think of what may have
happened."

Hastily getting Mary a little food, Elizabeth set out for the orange
grove, and searched it and the neighbourhood through and through,
calling Tommy's name until she was hoarse.  Once in response to her
shouts, she thought she heard a faint cry, and hurried in the direction
from which she supposed it to have come.

At that moment she felt that she would have welcomed the appearance of
a native; the sight of any human face would have been a comfort.  But
her search was still fruitless; neither Tommy nor any one else
appeared; and Elizabeth thought she must have been mistaken.  The birds
were trilling and chattering in the woods, and among so many sounds it
was easy to deceive oneself.

At length, when she had been several hours absent, she felt that she
must return in case Mary should be wondering whether she too had
disappeared.  She could hardly drag herself home.  At the entrance of
the hut she found Mary looking anxiously towards the ridge.

"You shouldn't have got up," she said.  "Oh, Mary, I can't find her,
and I am so tired."

For a moment it looked as if she would break down utterly, but she
controlled herself, and in response to Mary's entreaty, lay down to
rest.  Fatigue even overcame her distress of mind, and for an hour or
two she slept heavily.  Then she awoke with a start, and declared that
she must go and search again.  Swallowing a little food, she set off,
and thoroughly hunted over a wider area than before, not returning
until the evening.

"It's no good," she said, despairing.  "Poor Tommy's gone."

"Don't say so," said Mary.  "You haven't seen any one, have you?"

"Nobody."

"Then she may only be lost.  You know how venturesome she is, and
having found no one to be afraid of perhaps she has gone right over the
island, and sprained her ankle or something.  Have a good sleep, Bess.
To-morrow we'll both go.  I'm sure I shall be strong enough."

Next morning, after a breakfast of bananas and oranges--for there was,
of course, no fish--the girls set off together.  Mary, although a
little "tottery," as she said, was able to walk slowly, and she
declared it was much better for her to go too, than to remain at home
wondering what was happening.  Elizabeth had to support her, and she
stopped for frequent rests; but they came at length to the orange grove.

"Now, I'll stay here," she said, "in the shade of the trees, while you
go round and round; and if you don't find her here, go right over the
ridge and cooee every few seconds.  I won't stir until you come back."




CHAPTER XIV

IN THE PIT

When Tommy left the hut she ran with all the fleetness of her young
legs up towards the ridge.  All the way she said to herself, "I won't
be afraid, I won't, I won't," keeping up her courage also with the
thought of the surprise she would give her sisters when she returned
laden with fruit.

The morning was somewhat misty, but the mist was not so thick as to
hide the general features of the country.  As before, she followed the
course of the stream, and when she came to the swamp she turned to the
right, and continued as nearly as possible in a straight line with the
crest.  Arriving at the top, she stopped for a few moments rather
puzzled.  The appearance of the country was unfamiliar; the spot she
had reached was certainly not the place to which she, with her sisters,
had come on the former excursion.  It was clear that she had wandered
somewhat from the proper route.

She went on, the very difficulty in which she found herself helping to
strengthen her determination.  There were trees on all sides, but for
some time she discovered none that were bearing oranges.  At length,
however, as the mist lifted, she perceived some golden spots among the
foliage, and ran towards them.  She hoped that this was not the orange
grove in which she had been so much frightened, and a return of her
nervousness made her quicken her pace and gather, in a kind of frantic
haste, a number of oranges that bespattered the ground.

In order to turn her journey to the utmost advantage she meant to fill
her pocket with oranges and take as many as possible in her hands as
well.  But remembering that her pocket was usually full of all sorts of
odds and ends, she knelt down to empty it and throw away what was
useless, so as to have more room for the oranges.  She had just laid on
the ground her knife and a few oddments when, throwing in spite of
herself a nervous glance around, she noticed a slight movement in the
bushes on her right--the direction in which she had come.  She could
not help looking again, and then she sprang to her feet transfixed with
terror.  There was the same little brown face peering out from among
the background of foliage.  For a few seconds the two pairs of eyes
remained staring at each other; then, scarcely knowing what she did,
but in an instinctive movement of defence, Tommy waved her arms towards
the bush.

The face instantly disappeared, but Tommy in her agitation forgot her
errand, forgot the things she had placed beside her, and took to her
heels, flying in a blind panic from the spot.  She did not even stay to
make sure she was going in the right direction; she had quite lost
command of herself, and regardless of thorns and creepers that tore her
skirts and tripped her steps, she plunged through the undergrowth.
Every sound seemed to her excited imagination to be made by pursuers
following upon her track.  Suddenly the earth gave way beneath her, she
felt herself sinking, sinking.  "Bess!  Bess!" she screamed, and then
she knew no more.

When she regained consciousness she found herself in semi-darkness.
For a moment she was simply bewildered; she was half smothered with
twigs, leaves and earth; then she remembered all that had happened and
sprang to her feet.  But an excruciating pain in her left ankle caused
her to fall back, and the agony was so intense that she remained for
some time in a half-fainting condition.  Presently she recovered.  A
second attempt to rise gave her such a twinge that she knew her ankle
was seriously sprained; to move without help was impossible.

Her fear of the little brown face was overcome by a still greater
anxiety.  Where was she?  She looked about her.  Some distance above
her head, considerably higher than the rooms at the farm, was a wide
opening.  She must have fallen into a pit.  But it seemed to her a
strange pit, for, her eyes becoming accustomed to the dimness, she saw
that the floor upon which she lay was much broader than the opening at
the top.

An insect touching her hand made her jump: and with a feeling of horror
she wondered if the pit was infested with noxious creatures that would
sting her to death.  She shouted, frantically, again and again, but her
voice only seemed to be thrown back at her; and when she remembered how
far off her sisters were, she realized that her cries, if they were
heard above, could bring only the savages from whom she had fled.

For a time she cowered among the trash, overwhelmed with despair.
Then, when she was calm enough to think, it was only to recognize more
fully the seriousness of her plight.  Her sisters could never guess
what had become of her.  If they took alarm at her absence, and
Elizabeth came in search of her, it was quite likely that she would
never discover the spot.  Perhaps even she might be captured by the
natives, for the sight of the little brown face had convinced Tommy
that beyond the ridge the island was overrun with cannibals.  It was
nothing to her that they had never appeared on her side of the island;
she told herself that they had simply waited until they could catch one
girl alone.  Nor did it seem to her ridiculous that a tribe of
bloodthirsty savages should be so timorous as to refrain from openly
attacking three defenceless girls.

The dreadful thought occurred to her, "Am I to die in this prison?"
The prospect of such a fate made her shiver.  She felt that even to
fall into the hands of cannibals was preferable to a lingering death in
this pit, and again she raised her voice in wild cries for help,
repeating them until she was exhausted.  For some time she remained in
a state of stupor: but when she was able to collect herself she
wondered whether, in spite of her injured foot, she could, by any
exertion of her own, escape.  She crept on hands and knees to the side
of the pit; but even if she had been able to use her foot she saw that
she could never climb up those sloping walls.

Glancing round, however, she saw that in the wall to her right there
was an opening yawning black.  She crawled to it, and peered in.  It
was so dark that she could see nothing beyond a yard.  But she felt a
faint hope that it might be a passage leading somehow to the level
ground.  Recollecting her automatic match-box, which, fortunately, she
kept attached to her belt, she threw its small flickering light on the
scene.  She saw now that she was indeed at the entrance of a tunnel.
It could not be a short one if it led to the outer air, for there was
no glimmer of light from its black depths.  But it was worth trying;
so, the light, small as it was, giving her a sense of security, she
began to creep slowly along the dark passage, every now and again
wincing as a pang shot through her injured foot.

It was a strange tunnel; not rounded and of regular shape like the
railway tunnels at home, but varying in width and height.  In some
places the roof was beyond the range of Tommy's feeble light; at others
it came so low that she could not have stood upright.  The floor was
uneven, the walls were rugged, a recess here, a protuberance there.
Clearly it had not been cut by the hands of men, but must be attributed
to a freak of nature.

To Tommy, crawling inch by inch along the ground, it seemed that the
tunnel would never end.  How long it was, how many minutes or hours
this painful progress continued, she was quite unable to guess.  At
last, with a cry of gladness, she saw a faint gleam of light beyond,
and tried to advance more quickly, so as to gain liberty and fresh air.
The light came through an aperture in the wall that appeared to be the
end of the passage.  It was high above the ground, and Tommy, standing
on one foot, was just able to look through it.  She thought that if she
could only manage to heave herself up to it, the aperture was just wide
enough to let her body through.

But first of all she must make sure that it led to safety.  It was not
full daylight outside; beyond the wall there appeared to be, not open
space, but another confined chamber.  Supposing she climbed up and got
through, how far would she have to drop to reach the ground on the
other side? and what if she should find herself only in another place
from which escape would be no easier than from the pit?

To stand on one foot was fatiguing, and Tommy had to sit down and rest
for a little.  She had now recovered from her panic, and was ready to
bend all her young wits upon the problem of escape.  Presently a means
occurred to her of discovering at least whether it would be safe for
her to make an attempt to clamber through the aperture.  She felt along
the floor for a piece of rock, and standing up again, dropped it over
the ledge.  In an instant there came a faint thud, and immediately
afterwards a great whirring and screaming.  She was quick to infer that
the ground was at some depth below the opening, and that the falling
rock had disturbed a colony of birds of some kind.  "Can I be at the
top of a cliff?" she thought.

Plainly it was impossible to escape in this direction.  The dashing of
her hope almost made Tommy weep.  She had done no good; indeed had only
wasted time.  There was nothing for it but to crawl back to the pit;
and as she wearily crept through the passage despair seized upon her
heart; she felt the choking sensation of helpless misery.

Her terror was even deepened when, on getting back to the pit, she
found that it was now quite dark.  Through the opening she could see
the stars overhead, but there was no pleasure in watching them as she
had many times watched them from the hut.  She crouched upon the
leaves, scarcely able to bear the throbbing pain in her foot; and when
presently she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, it was with a prayer
on her lips: "God help me, and let me see my sisters again."

Pain and thirst awakened her several times before dawn.  A slight
shower fell during the night, and by catching the raindrops in her
outspread palm she was able to moisten her parched lips.  She also
wetted her handkerchief and bound it about her inflamed ankle, thus
easing the pain a little.  When it was quite light overhead she began
to shout again, her voice sounding very cracked and hoarse.  Soon she
had to give up even this; her tongue and the roof of her mouth were so
dry that she could not utter a word.  Then she lost all hope, and lying
down sobbed herself to sleep.

When she awoke it was again dark.  Her foot was much less painful, but
she felt more hungry and thirsty than ever before in her life.  If only
she had filled her pocket with oranges before she saw that little brown
face!  Again the idea came to her of attempting to climb the side of
the pit by cutting steps in the earth; but on feeling in her pocket she
remembered that she had dropped her knife on the ground.  Hobbling
across the pit she felt along the walls, only to find, as before, that
their slope made it quite impossible to clamber up.  Then feeling that
starvation must be her doom, she sank back and lay in a state of dreamy
somnolence.

All at once she was startled into wakefulness by a faint sound
somewhere above her.  She sprang up.  Sunlight was streaming through
the opening; the sound came again.  It was some one calling.  Tommy
tried to shout in answer, but the feeble croak that was all she could
utter dismayed her.  With help at hand, she might not be heard!  The
call above was now quite clear.  It was coming nearer.  She heard her
own name.  But the more she tried to call the less she seemed able to
make a sound.  The voice above began to recede.  Then with a last
desperate effort she did manage to produce a hoarse cry that she could
scarcely believe came from her own throat, so strange it was.  It
seemed to have used up all the little strength she had left, and she
fell exhausted to the ground, believing that the last chance of rescue
had now utterly vanished.




CHAPTER XV

THE ELEVENTH HOUR

Some little time after Elizabeth had left her, Mary fancied that she
caught a faint cry.  She shouted to her sister, who was out of sight,
but whose voice she heard calling at intervals.  The feeble sound
seemed to have come from a patch of woodland not a great distance from
the track which Elizabeth had taken.  But as the wind was blowing from
that quarter, Mary realized that although she could hear Elizabeth it
was probably impossible for Elizabeth to hear her.  She felt very tired
after her long walk, and doubted whether she could go far without her
sister's sustaining arm; but the thought that Elizabeth might wander
out of reach while Tommy was in danger near at hand gave her an
artificial strength.  She rose from the ground and tottered in the
direction from which the cry had appeared to come.  Every now and then
she stopped, listening for a repetition of the sound; but she heard
nothing except the rustle of the wind and Elizabeth's shouts, growing
fainter and fainter in the distance.

In a few moments she had passed beyond the orange grove, and felt that
she was in danger of losing her way.  Even Elizabeth's voice soon
ceased to guide her.  She stumbled along, shouting every few steps,
with no other result than to disturb the birds in the trees.  Becoming
alarmed at the possibility of being lost and her strength failing, she
was on the point of trying to find her way back, and gave one last
call, when she was electrified by hearing a strange hoarse sound
apparently coming from some distance to the left.  It was little like a
human voice; yet it was not the cry of a bird, and Mary hurried with
uneven steps towards it.

The ground rose steeply, leading up to the ridge far to the left.  But
with the new strength lent by excitement Mary was not conscious of the
slope.  She came to a number of straggling bushes edged by an irregular
circle of small trees.  Here she looked eagerly around her, peering
through the bushes and between the trunks of the trees, listening for
that strange cry to be repeated.

There was no sound, but as her eyes travelled over the circuit she
noticed what seemed to be a small landslip in the bank.  Following this
downward, her glance discovered a hole in the ground several feet wide.
Moved by a sudden impulse, and the instinctive feeling that here was
the explanation of Tommy's disappearance, she stumbled forward, hardly
conscious of her trembling limbs.  Throwing herself flat on the ground
at the edge of the hole, she gazed into the pit beneath.  It was some
moments before her eyes became used to the half-light; but then she saw
something white; she distinguished it as part of an object huddled on
the ground immediately beneath the opening; and she knew that Tommy was
found.

But an agonizing fear seized her.  Was Tommy dead?  She called down in
a low voice.  There was no answer.  She called again and still again,
her tones growing louder as she became more alarmed.  At length, after
what seemed an age of suspense, her strained gaze noticed a slight
movement in the figure below, and a faint whisper came up to her.
"Thank God!" her heart cried out, and she eagerly called to Tommy,
saying that she would soon be safe.  But Tommy made no reply; she had
relapsed into unconsciousness.

Mary was at her wits' end what to do.  It was clear that Tommy was
helpless.  A pang shot through Mary's heart as she remembered that the
girl had been without food for two days and two nights.  The hole was
so deep that even if Tommy had been conscious Mary could not have
helped her, at the utmost stretch of her arms, to get out.  Elizabeth
was beyond hearing: she might return to the orange grove: what would
she do if she found Mary missing?  Mary dared not leave the
neighbourhood of the pit now that Tommy was found: but she wanted to
run after Elizabeth and bring her to the spot.

While she was still undecided she heard Elizabeth's voice in the far
distance.  She shouted in reply, though she still felt that against the
wind her voice could not be heard.  But in a few moments she was
gladdened to know from the growing loudness of the shouts that
Elizabeth was returning.  There was a chance that as she drew nearer
she would hear a shrill call, so Mary every few moments formed a
trumpet with her hands, and let forth a prolonged "Cooee!"  Presently
she knew by the tone of Elizabeth's call that her voice had been heard;
but, so confusing are sounds amid woods and thickets, it was a long
time before Elizabeth discovered where she was, and came hurrying
through the trees.

"Have you found her?" she asked eagerly.

"She is down there," replied Mary, pointing to the mouth of the pit.
"Oh, Bess, I'm afraid she is very much hurt, perhaps dying!"

Elizabeth, with an exclamation of dismay, threw herself down and peered
into the hole.

"Tommy!  Tommy dear!" she called.

But there was no answer.  Elizabeth measured with her eye the depth of
the pit; she felt tempted to spring down and see if Tommy were alive or
dead.

"Will you stay here while I run back and get the painter?" she asked.
At that moment neither of the girls thought of savages: fear for Tommy
had banished every other fear.

"It will take so long," murmured Mary.  "You would be gone an hour at
least, and----"

"I know a way," Elizabeth interrupted; "we'll make a rope of creepers.
It won't take us long."

She darted off into the forest.  In building the hut she had become
expert in selecting strong tendrils for binding their lattice-work, and
in a few moments she had cut, among the dense undergrowth, a
considerable quantity of tough material with which she hurried back to
the pit.  The two girls at once set to work with nimble fingers
plaiting the tendrils together.

"She must be famished, and dead with thirst," said Mary.  "If we could
only give her some water."

"There's a little brook not far away," said Elizabeth.  "When we have
done the rope we'll make a cup of leaves, and I'll fetch some water.
Then you must let me down into the pit."

"I could never do it," said Mary, "I am not strong enough."

"Not by yourself, but I'll fasten one end of the rope to that tree you
see there; then we'll pass it round that little one near us, and you
will be strong enough to pay it out.  That's the only way."

They worked very quickly, and finished a long, stout rope in little
more time than the journey home would have taken.  While Mary made
several cups from the large spreading leaves of a plant like rhubarb,
Elizabeth wound one end of the rope tightly about the tree trunk she
had pointed out.  In the other end she made a loop to cling to.

"The rope is not long enough," said Mary.

"Not to reach the bottom, but that doesn't matter.  I can drop a few
feet.  When you have let me down, run down that slope, Mary, and you'll
find the brook a little way to the right.  Bring two of the leaves
filled with water, and let them down by the rope.  Pierce a hole in
each side of the cups near the top, and pass the rope through: you'll
see how to do it.  Now take the rope firmly.  I'll slip over the edge,
and when I give the word let it run out gently around the tree."

Pale with anxiety and weakness, Mary took up her position at the tree.
She made a determined effort to obey Elizabeth's instructions.  Inch by
inch the rope slipped through her hands, at last so fast that she held
her breath in terror lest Elizabeth should be dashed to the ground.
The rope was stretched to its extreme tension; then it suddenly
relaxed; and next moment she heard the welcome cry from the pit: "I'm
safe.  Now for the water."

Gathering herself together, Mary sped off to the brook, carrying the
two leaf cups.  Eagerness to help lent her strength.  She returned with
them brimming, drew up the rope, and unfastened the loop at the end.
Then passing two of the strands through the holes made in the cup, she
let it down slowly into the pit.  Some of the water was spilled in the
descent; but Elizabeth said that enough was left for the moment.

"How is she?" asked Mary, dreading to hear that Tommy was past help.

"She is unconscious, but breathing," said Elizabeth.  "I'll give her
some water."

For some little time Mary heard no more.  Elizabeth bathed Tommy's head
and moistened her lips.  At length the young girl gave a long sigh and
moan.

"I'm here, dear," said Elizabeth gently.  "Mary is above.  You are safe
now."

"The face!" moaned Tommy, her mind leaping back over all that had
happened since she had seen those eyes staring at her.

"Hush!" said Elizabeth, stroking her head.  "There is nothing to harm
you.  Drink a little water; we must see about getting you out of this
pit, you know."

Tommy drank eagerly, holding Elizabeth's hands in a tight clasp.

"We are getting on famously," Elizabeth called to reassure Mary.

Tommy lay still, taking a sip of water every now and again, too weak to
move or to speak.  Meanwhile Elizabeth was beating her brain for some
means of getting her to the surface.  It was clear that Tommy for some
time would be unable to do anything for herself.  Lightly built though
she was, her dead weight was far more than Elizabeth could hope to
sustain, hanging on to the rope, and with no one but Mary to assist
from above.  The rope was too short by several feet; the first
necessity was to lengthen it.  Presently, therefore, when Tommy was
more recovered, Elizabeth asked Mary to cut some more creepers and
throw them down.  Now her practice in splicing on board her uncle's
ship was very useful.  She quickly added three or four feet to the
rope's length.

"Tommy dear, I'm going to leave you for a little," she said.  "You are
quite safe now.  I'm going to arrange about lifting you out of this
horrid place.  You must be hungry, poor thing.  I'll get a few oranges;
you can reach them if we throw them down, can't you? and bananas too;
they're more substantial.  By the time I am ready to lift you out
you'll be heaps stronger."

"Mary won't go?" said Tommy quiveringly.

"No, she'll stay with you.  You can hear her when she speaks to you:
but don't try to talk yourself; just eat the fruit I shall give you and
get strong."

She then told Mary to come to the edge of the pit and be ready to help
her.

"But take care you don't overbalance," she said.  "It mustn't be a case
of three girls in a pit."

Tired as Elizabeth had been, the joy of discovering Tommy alive had
braced her, and she felt equal to any exertion.  But she had not had
Tommy's practice in tree-climbing, nor in clambering up the rigging on
the barque; and when she clasped the rope and tried to draw herself up
she slipped down again and again.  For a time she felt baffled, but a
means of overcoming the difficulty occurred to her.

"Pull up the rope, Mary," she said, "and make knots in it about two
feet apart.  I shall be able to manage it then, I think."

When the knots were made she tried again.  It was a terrible strain on
her wrists, and she got no assistance for her feet from the shelving
sides of the pit.  But the knots gave a firm hold, and she managed to
climb hand over hand to the edge, where, with Mary's help, she heaved
herself on to the level ground.

"Do rest," said Mary, noticing the signs of strain on her sister's face.

"I am not a bit tired.  Look, Mary, I want you to plait another rope.
I'll get the stuff for you."

She hastened into the undergrowth, and returned with her arms full of
creepers.

"Now I'm going to get Tommy some food, and then run back to the hut.
I'll be as quick as I can.  Talk to her while I am away to keep her
spirits up."

Soon she was flinging an armful of bananas and oranges, one by one,
into the pit.

"There's a feast for you," she said cheerfully.  "Now in about an hour
you'll be released.  Eat slowly, that's the rule after fasting, isn't
it?"

"You are a dear," said Mary, hugging her.  "What should we have done
without you?"

"My dear girl, without me you wouldn't have been here at all, we all
came together.  Good-bye for an hour."

She flitted off as lightly as a bird, overflowing with happiness.
Reaching the hut she took up the longest of the mat beds, her own, and
without waiting for a moment to rest, hurried back to her sister,
announcing herself from a distance by a cheerful cooee.

"All well?" she said.

"Tommy has been telling me all about it," said Mary.  "She saw the
little brown face again."

"Bother the little brown face!" said Elizabeth.  "Really, I should like
to smack it.  Tommy's well enough to talk, is she?"

"Yes, but she has sprained her ankle."

"Poor girl! it will be hoppety-hop when we get her up, then.  Now see
how we'll manage it.  You've finished that rope?  We'll make a cradle
of my bed."

She made two holes at each end of the mat large enough for the ropes to
pass through.  In this way she formed a rough cradle upon which Tommy
could be drawn up, for the girl's weight would keep it steady if the
ropes were placed far enough apart.  The cradle was soon ready for
lowering.

"Can you manage to get on to it yourself, Tommy?" asked Elizabeth, "or
shall I come down again and help you?"

"I can manage," answered Tommy.  "I am ever so much better.  Are you
sure it's strong enough?"

"Certain, I'd trust myself on it.  All you will have to do will be to
clutch a rope at each end and hold tight.  Call out when you are ready."

She and Mary then each took the end of a rope and passed it round a
tree, the two trees being not quite so far apart as the length of the
mat.  Tommy gave the word.  They began to haul.  The trees relieved
them of all strain, and making a succession of short pulls, with rests
in between, they drew the cradle inch by inch to the surface.
Elizabeth was afraid that Mary's strength might give way, or that Tommy
would lose her grip of the ropes; but neither of these mishaps
occurred, and with a final pull they hauled Tommy and cradle over the
brink of the pit.

[Illustration: "WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK."]

And then overwrought nerves gave way.  Elizabeth ran to Tommy, clasped
her in her arms, and burst into tears.  A little later, when all three
girls were sitting together weeping in sympathy, Elizabeth exclaimed--

"Well, we are a lot of babies.  We ought to be shouting for joy.  I'm
quite ashamed of myself."

"I'm not," said Mary stoutly.  "I think it's a blessing we can cry a
little.  It eases the nerves.  Boys never cry, and what's the result?
They get as crabby as two sticks."

"How am I to get you two poor invalids home?" said Elizabeth.  "You
have done wonders, Mary, but you would be utterly done up if you tried
to walk back.  And Tommy certainly can't walk.  We shall have to stay
here for the night; fortunately, it is fine."

"Oh, no, we _must_ get home, Bess," said Tommy earnestly.  "I could not
bear to stay here after seeing that face."

"But there can't be anything to harm us," persisted Elizabeth.  "I have
walked round and round, miles altogether, and haven't seen a single
sign of people.  You are quite sure it was a human face?  Mayn't it
have been a monkey or an owl?"

"No, I am sure of it.  You never saw such eyes, they seemed to burn
like fire."

"But didn't you see a body, too?"

"No, just a face.  That was what frightened me so; just a face that
seemed all eyes."

Elizabeth saw that Tommy had been too much scared to take real notice
of anything, and decided that for the sake of her peace of mind it
would be better to make an attempt to reach home.

"Very well, then, it's a case of pick-a-back.  I'll carry you.  Mary
must get along as well as she can.  It will take us an age, but we can
rest on the way."

They started, Mary carrying Elizabeth's mat, and Elizabeth carrying
Tommy.  Slowly and with many halts they made their way down, reaching
the hut about their usual tea-time.  The two elder girls had taken
precautions to fill their pockets with fruit as they skirted the orange
grove.  They had no other fruit in the hut except cocoanuts, and
Elizabeth was too worn out to think of catching fish.  They satisfied
themselves with a meal of fruit.

Tommy was delighted with the behaviour of her parrot, Billy.  Overjoyed
at the return of its mistress, it hopped upon her shoulder, cocking its
head and uttering cries loud but by no means sweet.

"A welcome home, Tommy," said Elizabeth, smiling.  "We can't gush, Mary
and I, but we are more glad than we can say, dear, and Billy says it
for us as well as he can."

Then, after Tommy's ankle had been bathed and bound up, they threw
themselves on their simple couches, and, all their present anxieties
set at rest, slept heavily until the sun woke them to another day.




CHAPTER XVI

NEW TERRORS

A few days' rest, and a steady improvement in the weather, restored the
invalids to their former health.  The daily round went on as
before--fishing, gathering fruit, ascending the cliff to take their
customary look over the sea.  They often talked of the face Tommy had
seen.  It was more mysterious than ever.  Elizabeth, while her sisters
were still confined to the hut, made a visit by herself to the orange
grove, and determined if she saw the face to discover once for all to
whom it belonged.  But though she looked in every tree and bush and
scoured the neighbourhood thoroughly, she never once caught sight of
the face with the two burning eyes.  Once she heard a rustling amongst
the bushes and dashed towards the sound, but there was nothing to be
seen, and she returned thoroughly baffled.

One morning when Elizabeth was preparing breakfast she heard Mary, who
had gone to the look-out, shouting in great excitement.  The two other
girls rushed to join her, and saw far away in the offing a three-masted
ship under full sail.  The breeze was light, and the vessel appeared to
be moving very slowly.  Mary had already waved her handkerchief: the
others did the same, but they soon realized that the ship was too far
away for their signals to be noticed.

"Let's go after her in the boat," suggested Tommy.  "They might see
that moving on the water."

As there seemed just a possibility of thus attracting attention, they
ran down to the beach and launched the boat.  Elizabeth, being the
strongest, took the sculls and pulled as hard as she could towards the
opening in the reef; while Tommy steered, and Mary from time to time
rose in her place and waved her handkerchief.  By the time they came
into the open sea the ship was almost opposite to them, sailing due
west.  There was no sign that they had been observed; she held steadily
to her course.  They shouted; Tommy put her fingers to her lips and
gave a shrill whistle, an accomplishment which some of her friends at
home had condemned as unladylike.  But the ship stood on her way.  The
girls' hearts sank as they saw the distance between it and them
gradually widen; and Elizabeth, who had been pulling gallantly for
half-an-hour or more, at last collapsed on her oars.

They were all too much upset to speak.  To have seen a vessel at last,
after so many weeks of waiting, and then to be passed by, was a
terrible disappointment to them.  They were distressed not merely at
the loss of the chance of immediate rescue, but at the staggering
thought that the same thing might happen again.  It was evident that
the island lay out of the usual track; no vessel could ever have a
reason for visiting it; and lacking the power of making effective
signals they might remain there for years and years without any one
ever being aware of their existence.

The light boat rocked to the long Pacific swell, and the girls battled
with their tears.  They strained their eyes after the dwindling vessel,
hoping against hope that even yet she might change her course and come
back to them.  But when there was nothing but a speck on the horizon,
Elizabeth, her face full of despair, took up the sculls again and began
to pull slowly in silence towards home.

As the boat's head turned they were aghast to find how far distant they
were from the island.  The high cliffs seemed little more than a low
bank: clearly they were miles away.  Elizabeth, knowing that her
sculling powers could not wholly account for the great distance,
suddenly remembered the current.  From the time the boat passed the
reef it had been subject to the full strength of the ocean stream that
swept the shore.  They would have to row back against it, and with the
sun mounting higher, and no food or water on board, they realized that
they must look forward to hours of discomfort, if not actual danger.

The boat made little headway against the current, and Elizabeth had
worked so hard that now she was scarcely able to move the sculls.

"Tommy, can you take my place for a little while?" she said.  "I will
row again after a rest."

They exchanged places, stooping low and moving very carefully.  The
boat lost many yards while the exchange was being made.  Tommy had
quite recovered her strength, and was able to take a long spell at the
sculls.  But progress was very slow.  Elizabeth steered with the idea
of getting under the shelter of the island.  She noticed by and by that
Tommy was tiring, and proposed to take the sculls again; but Mary
pleaded to be allowed to share in the work.  Thus relieving one
another, they crept gradually towards the island, not daring to cease
sculling altogether, and yet finding it more and more exhausting as the
day grew hotter.

By almost imperceptible degrees the cliffs heightened and objects upon
them became more distinct.  The girl who was steering at the time
encouraged the sculler by mentioning each new landmark as it became
distinguishable.  Recognizing that it would be hours before they could
attain their own little harbour, Elizabeth decided to make for the
nearest point of the shore in the hope of finding another
landing-place.  At last they began to benefit by the shelter of the
island, and their progress became more rapid.  But when, after
exertions that had tried them all severely, they came out of the
current into comparatively still water near the shore, they had to row
for some distance before, in a cutting between the cliffs, they
discovered a broad, sandy beach on which it was possible to land.  Here
they pulled the boat a few yards up the sand, and then hurried along
the chine in search of fresh water to assuage their burning thirst.

Within a short distance of the beach the chine was covered with
vegetation, among which they saw several cocoa-nut palms.  To these
they hastened in the hope of finding some nuts upon the ground.  But
there were none.  Tommy looked longingly up into the trees, but it was
impossible to climb them, and the girls hurried on again, expecting to
find somewhere a rill trickling from the high ground to the sea.

When they had gone some distance the trees thinned, and they saw, some
hundreds of yards in front of them, a sheer wall of rock, rising to a
considerable height and dotted here and there with scrub.

"Do you know, I believe that's the end of the ridge," said Elizabeth,
who had a shrewder eye than the others for country, and had a better
notion as to the part of the island to which they had come.

"I don't care," cried Tommy; "_that's_ what I want."  She pointed to a
sparkling waterfall that plunged over a ledge a good way to their left.
They ran eagerly towards it, scrambling over impediments, and soon came
to the stream which the waterfall fed.  Then they threw themselves
down, and gulped large draughts of the cold water.  After resting for a
while on the grassy bank, Elizabeth looked at her watch.

"It is past two," she said; "what a time we have been!"

"Without breakfast or dinner," said Tommy dolefully, "and no chance of
supper either, as far as I can see, if we have to row back."

"Perhaps we had better walk it," suggested Elizabeth; "I've had enough
rowing for one day."

"Can we find the way?" asked Mary.

"If we are near the end of the ridge, as I think we are," replied
Elizabeth, "we can't go far wrong.  It takes us half-an-hour or more
from the ridge home, and I shouldn't think it would take us long to
reach a place that we recognize."

"You mean the orange grove," said Tommy; "I won't go past it, I
absolutely won't."

"Well, dear, I dare say we can go round about," said Elizabeth
placably, "though I'm so tired and hungry, and I am sure you are too,
that the shorter our walk the better.  Let us rest a little longer
until it's not quite so hot.  But we mustn't stay too long, in case I
am mistaken and we find ourselves lost in the dark."

About half-an-hour later they rose to make their way homeward.
Elizabeth had resolved to follow up the stream until they reached the
waterfall, then to strike to the left, skirting the precipice.  She
expected to come to the thick belt of woodland of which the orange
grove was a part.  Tommy did not go ahead as her custom was.  Since her
fright she had been a more sedate and sober Tommy.

They had gone but a short distance upstream though a fringe of trees,
when all at once they halted and started back.  The trees suddenly came
to an end, and a few yards in front of them stood a tiny structure,
which, ignorant as they were, they knew for a native hut.  It was
conical in shape, made apparently of grass and thatch, with a small
opening only high enough to crawl through.  It was placed at the foot
of a slope, and the space before it had evidently been cleared by hand,
for there were stumps of trees here and there.

The three girls, struck with consternation, slipped back within the
shelter of the trees.  Tommy clung to Elizabeth's hand.  Here was
confirmation of her story.  It said much for her restraint, or perhaps
for the renewal of her fears, that she did not turn upon Mary with a
whispered "I told you so."

Elizabeth had determined if she should see a native to show a bold
front and try to make friends with him.  Now, though Tommy on one side
and Mary on the other were pulling her back, she stood her ground,
whispering, "Wait: perhaps it is deserted."  But she had scarcely
uttered the words when, from among the trees on the other side of the
stream, about two hundred yards away, they caught sight of a native
approaching.  They were only aware that it was the figure of a man: all
Elizabeth's bold resolutions evaporated.  Without waiting to take in
any details of the stranger's appearance they fled noiselessly among
the trees, swerving to the left of the course they had intended to
follow.

They ran until they were out of breath, glancing round fearfully every
now and again.  Had they been seen?  Would the savage pursue them?
There was no sign of pursuit, and when breathlessness forced them to
walk, they stepped out quickly, not daring to speak.

They were in a part of the island utterly unfamiliar to them.
Elizabeth had quite lost her bearings.  The vegetation was very thick;
even where it was not actual forest there were bushes in clumps, large
tangled masses of creepers, and briers which, as they forced their way
through, tore their clothes and scratched their hands and faces.  They
stumbled over obstacles at almost every step.  Here and there the
ground rose steeply, and the haste of their ascent made them pant for
breath.

After a time Elizabeth, always quickest to recover her self-possession,
began to reproach herself for giving way so easily to panic.

"What an idiot I was!" she said in a whisper.  "The idea of running
from a solitary creature!"

"But he was a cannibal!" said Mary.

"How do we know that?  Was he the owner of your little brown face,
Tommy?"

"Yes--no--I don't know," murmured Tommy.  "I don't think so."

"I ought to have waited," continued Elizabeth.  "We might at least have
seen whether he was young or old.  Why, for all we know he is a white
man, cast away like ourselves."

"He had no coat on, I saw that," said Mary.

"He may be a native hermit, then.  There are such people among the
savages, I suppose."

"But there may be hundreds," said Tommy.

"Living in one little hut?  Nonsense!"

"There may be other huts, we can't tell," said Mary.  "The savage may
have been coming from one of the others."

"That's true!  It is more likely that the man has companions, I admit.
Well, if I can't pluck up courage to go among them, we must simply take
care to keep on our side of the island, and that means starvation in
time.  But where are we?  The sun is getting low: it will be dark soon.
Let us run again."

They found themselves soon entering another patch of forest, and began
to be seriously alarmed at the prospect of being overtaken by night
before they reached home.

Elizabeth thought it best to keep straight on, for by so doing they
must come in time to the shore.  But it is difficult to judge direction
in the forest, and when darkness descended upon them while they were
still among the trees, Elizabeth was forced to the conclusion that they
had been wandering round and round all the time.

"It's of no use, girls," she said; "we can never find our way in the
dark.  We shall have to stay here for the night."

They had been without food all day.  Utterly worn out by hunger,
exertion and alarm, they huddled together at the foot of a tree and
fell into an uneasy sleep.  Several times during the night they were
disturbed by slight noises in the brushwood around them, or in the
trees overhead.  But nothing happened to alarm them, and when dawn
glimmered through the trees they rose, a haggard and sorry trio, and
set off once more to find a way home.

Only a few minutes' walk uphill brought them to the ridge, from which
they could see the orange grove.  They were so desperately hungry and
thirsty that they were ready to face all hazards for the sake of some
fruit.  They hurried to the grove, snatched up a few oranges and
bananas, and devoured them as they continued on their homeward way.

When they reached their hut, their feeling of security was alloyed by
the distressing thought that they had lost their boat.  The savages,
whose settlement was near the cove at which they had landed, and who
probably appropriated the fruits of the cocoa-nut palms there, would
certainly discover the boat drawn up on the beach.  The girls had
always regarded it as a last refuge; they could always use it to row
out to any ship that came reasonably near, if they failed to attract
the attention of those on board in any other way.  They felt that its
disappearance very likely doomed them to a lifelong imprisonment on the
island, and their hearts were heavy as lead.  Not being without
imagination, they had often in their secret thoughts looked into the
future, and seen themselves growing older, falling ill, one or the
other of them dying; and the possibility of being the last survivor,
shut up in this ocean prison-house without human companionship, filled
each of them with terror.

With the morning common-sense asserted itself.

"We shall be perfect ninnies if we don't try to get back our boat,"
said Elizabeth.  "I've been thinking a good deal in the night, and the
more I think the more convinced I am that there can't be many natives
on the island.  Why should they keep to themselves so?  Why don't they
ever come to this part?  If only I could cease being a coward for five
minutes I'd brave them.  Anyhow we ought to walk back to the place we
landed at yesterday and bring our boat away.  It mayn't have been
discovered yet."

"But suppose it has been discovered?" said Mary.

"They'd probably leave it on the shore.  If we walk over there this
evening and get there about dark, we might steal it away.  It's our own
property."

"I don't want to go near the place," said Tommy.  "Besides, we might
lose our way."

"Not if we walk over the cliffs," replied Elizabeth.  "We have never
tried that.  The woods are thick, but we might find the walk easier
than we think.  At any rate, it would be shorter than going all round
by the ridge.  You see, Tommy, we need not go near the hut at all.
Don't come if you feel nervous.  Mary and I can row the boat back."

"No, I won't be left.  If you go I go too.  If we don't see the boat
where we left it, you won't go any farther, will you?"

"I won't if it is not in sight," said Elizabeth, "but if it is anywhere
within reach it would be silly not to try to get it.  We want some fish
badly.  Let's go fishing this morning, and rest all the afternoon, so
as to be fresh for our walk."

So it was arranged, but the plan had to be modified.  While Tommy and
Mary were fishing from the rocks, it occurred to Elizabeth to climb to
the cliff top and see if the way she suggested was practicable.  She
was disappointed.  Not only was the forest dense, and the undergrowth
an almost impenetrable mass of thorny thicket, but the ground was much
broken by fissures and small crevasses, so that, instead of being
easier than the route across the island, this way promised to be longer
and much more troublesome.

When she returned to her sisters she found them cheerful over a finer
catch than usual.  Taking advantage of their high spirits she told them
the result of her expedition, and employed all her persuasiveness to
induce them to attempt the route by the ridge.  She overcame Tommy's
reluctance, and then tactfully dropped the subject, hoping that the
young girl's courage would not ooze away before it was time to start.

About four o'clock, after making a good meal, they set off, Tommy
exacting a promise that Elizabeth would turn back at the least sign of
danger.  They walked quickly until they had crossed the ridge; then,
avoiding the orange grove, they struck off more directly to the east,
moving more slowly, and with many a cautious glance around.

"We ought to come above the waterfall by and by," said Elizabeth in a
whisper.

Her sense of locality had not deceived her.  In a few minutes they
heard the musical plashing of the water.  Keeping this sound on their
right, they went on, guessing that the native hut must be at some
distance below them, nearer the sea.  As they went on, in silence, they
came suddenly to what appeared to be the opening of a large cave in the
face of the cliff.  They shrank back, wondering if this was a dwelling
of some of the inhabitants; but taking courage from the perfect
stillness they ventured to pass the opening and continued their descent
towards the sea.

Presently, round a bend of the cliff, they saw the native hut, nestling
at the foot of the rocky precipice, two or three hundred yards away.
The sun was very near its setting, and its last rays being intercepted
by the high ground in the centre of the island, the light was already
dim at the point at which they had arrived.  To gain the cove they
would have to descend a little lower and then cross through a clump of
trees.  As they approached this, Tommy, whose keen eyes were restlessly
searching the neighbourhood, declared that she had caught sight of a
small figure flitting among the trees beyond the hut.  They all halted
and gazed anxiously towards the spot she pointed out; but no form,
human or otherwise, was now to be seen.  There was the hut just as they
had seen it before, but no person was visible, nor even the smoke of a
fire.

Fearing that it would be quite dark before they reached the cove they
hurried on.  The remaining distance was greater than Elizabeth had
supposed, and the clump of trees more extensive.  As they passed
through this, the hut now being hidden from sight, they were more
circumspect than ever.  At last they reached the end of it, and halting
for another look round, they hastened on towards the sandy beach where
they had left the boat.

It was not many minutes before they saw, with a pang of disappointment,
that the boat was certainly not where it had been.

"Let's go back," whispered Tommy; "you know you promised."

"But there is no danger yet, child," replied Elizabeth somewhat
impatiently.  "We might at least see if it is anywhere about."

She went on in advance of the others, and almost shouted for joy when
she caught sight of the boat drawn up in a snug little recess.  She
beckoned the girls to join her, and as they came up, pointed with some
excitement to a small native canoe that lay a few feet beyond their own
boat.  Tommy gave a startled gasp.

"There are savages," she whispered; "oh, do let us go.  I know we shall
be caught."

"We won't go without the boat," said Elizabeth fiercely.  "Quick!  It's
bound to make a scraping sound as we drag it down; but it's very near
the water, and before any one can reach us from the hut we shall be
afloat."

With nervous energy they drew the boat down to the water, sprang into
it, and, in a state of fearful joy, Elizabeth began to pull from the
shore.

"Steer close in, Tommy," she said, "or we shall be in the current.
There's only half-an-hour of daylight left, but if I pull hard we shall
be home almost as soon as it is dark.  Mind the rocks."

Mary, the only unoccupied member of the party, kept her eyes fixed on
the shore.

"I see some one," she called suddenly; "there, just by those
cocoa-nuts."

Tommy turned quickly.  In the gathering dusk she was unable at first to
see the object to which Mary pointed; but presently she distinguished,
peeping round the stem of a palm not fifty yards away, a little brown
face surmounted by a mop of very black hair.

"There it is," she cried, "the same that I saw before.  Pull hard,
Bess; they'll be after us in their canoe."

Elizabeth suspected that the native craft would be much speedier than
their own little tub, and, fearful of pursuit, plied her sculls
lustily.  As the boat drew away, the head moved; a shoulder appeared;
then a complete body, which came slowly down to the edge of the shore.

"I believe it's a girl!" exclaimed Mary.

But in the fading light it was impossible to see distinctly, and they
had no temptation to delay, even though Mary's exclamation had aroused
their curiosity.  The figure was soon completely out of sight.  Tommy
had to keep all her attention fixed on the task of steering, for they
had never rowed along this part of the shore, which was much broken by
projecting rocks.

"Are you sure it was not the man we saw before?" asked Elizabeth.

"I don't think it was," said Mary.  "It seemed smaller.  I wonder if it
was a girl?"

"We are making surprising discoveries," said Elizabeth.  "No one is
chasing us, at any rate.  Can we have been scared all this time by a
girl?"

Tommy said nothing.  The figure had appeared to be about her own
height.  Was it possible that the little brown face which had so much
frightened her, and which she had seen with horror in her dreams,
belonged to a young girl like herself?  She felt a strange longing to
know.




CHAPTER XVII

THE FOUNDLING

The improvement in the weather was only temporary, and for several days
the girls were kept at home by the heavy rains.  They talked a good
deal about their discovery.  There appeared to be at least two natives
on the island; how many more they were unable to guess.  Having
themselves been seen, they felt that they could no longer owe their
safety to the ignorance of the inhabitants; but the bad weather might
discourage any attempt to seek them out.  Whether they would escape
attack when the rain ceased was a problem that caused much anxiety.

Early one morning a hurricane swept over the island, not so devastating
as its predecessor, but violent enough to make them fear for the safety
of their hut.  This time, however, the wind blew from a different
quarter, and the girls' frail dwelling, being sheltered by the high
ground behind, escaped damage.  The storm lasted a few hours, and was
then succeeded by a day of brilliant sunshine.  The girls took
advantage of this to replenish their larder.  While Tommy and Elizabeth
were fishing, Mary posted herself as sentry to give the alarm if the
natives appeared.  They feared that the precaution would avail them
little if they were really attacked, for they had no means of defence;
but it might at least give them time to escape for the moment by
launching the boat.  They were undisturbed, however: and when the day
closed they rejoiced in one more respite.

Next morning Tommy, on going down to the beach, was surprised to see a
canoe, apparently empty, drifting past the reef.  It flashed upon her
that this might be the canoe they had seen up the coast, and that it
had been washed away, like their own boat, by the recent storm.

She ran up to the hut to tell her sisters what she had seen, and all
three hurried down to the shore.

"Let's row out and catch it," cried Tommy excitedly.  "I should love to
learn to paddle a native canoe, and I dare say in time we could make it
go along faster than our own dinghy."

"You want to capture an enemy's ship," said Elizabeth, with a smile.
"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't.  But we'll take some food and
water this time.  After our last adventure I don't care about voyaging
without provisions."

Tommy ran back to the hut for some fruit and cold fish, while Mary
filled their water-pots at the stream.  Having placed them in the boat
they rowed out towards the reef.  By the time they were afloat the
canoe had drifted out into the main current, and was being carried
rapidly away.  The sea was calm, and Elizabeth's vigorous strokes
brought the boat in twenty minutes or so within a few yards of the
canoe.

Suddenly Mary, who had been keeping a look-out in the boat, uttered a
startled exclamation.

"Bess, I believe there's some one lying in it."

Elizabeth at once lay on her oars.

"Row back!" whispered Tommy.  "It's one of the savages.  He's hiding to
decoy us, or something."

Elizabeth's common-sense asserted itself.

"That's not likely," she said.  "How would he suppose that we should
row out?  and we couldn't get away now if we tried if he has a paddle.
If he hasn't he can't do us much harm.  Now's the best chance we have
of making friends."

"Don't, Bess!" whispered Tommy anxiously, as Elizabeth dipped the oars
again.

But Elizabeth was firm, and with a few strokes brought the boat
alongside the canoe.  Not a sound had come from it.

"It's a girl!" exclaimed Mary, now that she could see more clearly the
bottom of the canoe.

Tommy gave a gasp.  Was she to behold the owner of the little brown
face at last?  Elizabeth no longer hesitated.  She drew close to the
canoe, shipped oars, and laid a hand on the side.

The girls looked down with a sort of awed curiosity.  In the bottom of
the boat lay a native girl--a brown-skinned pretty little creature,
with a string of what looked like teeth around her neck, and a yellow
kerchief about her waist.  She was perfectly still; her eyes were
closed.

"She's dead!" whispered Tommy, whose eyes were dilated with excitement.

Elizabeth leant over and placed her hand under the child's breast.

"No, she is alive," she said, "but her heart is beating very faintly.
Some water, Mary--quick!"

It was impossible, placed as she was, to pour any water into the girl's
mouth; but Elizabeth sprinkled a little on her head.  After a time the
girl stirred, opened her eyes and moved her lips, but no sound came
from them, and in a moment her eyelids again drooped.

"She's absolutely done," said Elizabeth.  "We'll tow the canoe home.
Tommy, fasten the painter.  The poor child's very bad."

The boat's head was turned, and Elizabeth rowed as hard as she could
against the current.  Fortunately, they had not come very far beyond
the gap in the reef.  When the boat reached the still water it
travelled much faster, and within an hour of leaving they regained the
shore.  During this time Tommy had thrown an occasional glance over her
shoulder at the prostrate girl.  Once she caught the child's eyes fixed
upon her, and felt a thrill as she recognized them; they were the same
as she had seen peering at her out of the bush.  She felt no fear now,
but a longing to help the little stranger and know more about her.

When they had landed and drawn the boat up, they lifted the girl and
carried her among them to the hut.  Her eyes opened during the journey,
and she shivered; but she did not speak or struggle, and indeed hung so
limply in their arms that they feared she was past help.

"On my bed, please," said Tommy, when they reached the hut.

They laid her gently down, and Elizabeth poured a little cocoa-nut milk
between her lips.  She now gave signs of animation, swallowed the juice
greedily, and looked with the eyes of a timid fawn from one to another
of the three girls.  Presently she murmured a few words; her voice was
plaintive and pleading.

"Don't be frightened," said Elizabeth soothingly.

The words seemed to startle the child.  She tried to rise, but was too
weak to move.

"She must have been adrift a long time to be in this terrible state,"
said Elizabeth.  "I wonder how it happened?"

"Poor thing," murmured Tommy.  "What a sweet little face she has!"

"Hush!" said Elizabeth, "our voices frighten her.  Of course she
doesn't understand what we say.  I think you had better leave her to me
for a little while.  I'll feed her, and she'll see by and by that we
mean her no harm."

Tommy's face wore for an instant a look of defiance, but she got the
better of her inclination to rebel, and with Mary left the hut.
Elizabeth remained with the little stranger, feeding her at frequent
intervals, bathing her head, occasionally murmuring a word of
encouragement.  Her gentleness was effective.  Presently the look of
fright vanished from the brown girl's eyes--large, liquid eyes that
Elizabeth found wonderfully attractive.  Once she timidly stroked
Elizabeth's strong firm hand, and at last, with a faint smile, she
dropped off to sleep.

"She's asleep," said Elizabeth, quietly going forth to join her
sisters.  "What an extraordinary thing to happen!"

"Look here, Bess," said Tommy fiercely, "if you think you're going to
keep her to yourself you are jolly well mistaken.  I saw her first; you
wouldn't believe me; and now I'm going to look after her, so there!"

"Instead of the parrot?" Mary could not help saying.

Elizabeth frowned at her.

"Very well, dear," she said pleasantly.  "She's a little younger than
you, I should think, but I dare say she will like you to mother her.
But what will happen?  Won't her friends come and look for her?"

"And if they do, and find we have treated her kindly, they'll just love
us," said Tommy.

The other girls were amazed at Tommy's complete change of attitude.
Her fearfulness seemed to have been quite swallowed up in another
emotion.  The discovery that the native of whom she had been so
needlessly frightened was a girl more helpless than herself filled her
with a kind of rapture.  She stepped softly into the hut, and seeing
that the child was still asleep, placed a peeled orange beside her mat,
where it must be seen as soon as she awoke.

"I wonder if we ought to go to the native hut and try to explain to her
people that the girl is safe," said Elizabeth, as they sat on the grass
eating their dinner.

"Certainly not," said Tommy decisively.  "I dare say they were cruel to
her, and the poor thing was glad to get away."

"What an imagination you have!" said Elizabeth, smiling.  "For all you
know, her mother may be broken-hearted."

"I don't believe it.  Anyhow, she's too weak to go home, and we shall
soon see if she wants to.  I'll talk to her by and by, and I know
she'll be quite pleased to stay with us."

Remembering Tommy's ill-success with the parrot, the elder girls were
amused at her confident belief that she would make the child talk, and
understand what she said.  Indeed, when, later in the day, the girl
awoke, and Tommy went to attend to her, the first attempt at opening
communications was a complete failure.  By way of putting the little
patient at her ease, Tommy grinned at her, patted her head, nodded,
pointed to herself and said "Me Tommy," with the result that the child
shrank away from her as if scared.  When she realized that she had
nothing to fear, she gazed upon the white girl with wide-open eyes and
the same wondering look as may be seen on the face of a child watching
a conjurer.

The ravenous way in which she ate the food given to her confirmed the
girls' belief that she was half-starved.  She rapidly gained strength,
and it became clear that her weakness was due to hunger and not to
illness.  She began to talk, pouring out her words in liquid tones that
fell pleasantly on the English ears.  When she saw how puzzled the
girls were she laughed; then, with a sober look of reflection, pointed
to herself and said "Me Tommee" so drolly that the girls screamed with
laughter.

Just before sunset, when the girls came into the hut for the night,
they sat eating their supper and talking about their dusky guest.  She
knew by instinct that she was the subject of their conversation, and
looked timidly from one to another, watching their lips, her features
reflecting every expression on their faces.

Tommy gave her some baked fish for supper, and then prepared to "tuck
her up," as she said, with her own wraps; but the girl rejected the
covering and coiled herself up like a dog.

Next morning she got up and followed them when they went down to the
shore for their usual bath.  She seemed to be astonished at the
whiteness of their skin, and amused them very much by scrubbing herself
with sand, to see if she could make her brown body resemble theirs.
She watched every detail of their toilet with intense interest, and
when she saw them comb their hair she held out her hand for the comb.

"Don't give it to her, Tommy," said Mary, looking with distaste at the
girl's greasy mop.

"Rubbish!" said Tommy.  "We can wash it afterwards."

But even Tommy regretted her generosity when, after being vigorously
tugged through the thick matted hair, the comb was restored to her with
several of its teeth missing.

"My word!" she exclaimed.  "Fancy breaking wooden teeth!  My poor old
pony's mane was nothing to her thatch."

After breakfast the girl followed them about like a dog.  They noticed
that she looked about her eagerly, as though searching for some
recognizable landmark.  But she evinced no desire to leave them, and
indeed soon became tired; her strength was not yet equal to much
exertion.  The girls all sat on the grass with the child in the midst.

"Let's try to find out her name," suggested Mary.

"Let me try," said Tommy.  Pointing to Elizabeth, she said "Bess,"
repeating the name several times.  Then she touched Mary, pronouncing
her name, and lastly herself.

"Me Tommee," said the girl, laughing delightedly.

"Tommy," said her instructor, "not 'me,' just Tommy."

"Me Tommee," repeated the girl; then after a moment pointed to Mary,
saying "Mailee," and to Elizabeth, calling her "Bess," with a long
sibilant.

"Now you," said Tommy, pointing to the girl herself.

She at once recognized what was required and said, "Fangati."

"What a pretty name!" said Elizabeth.

"I wonder how she spells it," remarked Mary.

At this Tommy shrieked.

"She doesn't spell at all, you goose!" she said; "of course she never
learnt her letters."

And then the laugh was on Mary's side, for Fangati, as if thoroughly
enjoying the fun, touched Tommy's hand, saying "Me Tommee," over and
over again.

"You'll be 'Me Tommee' always now," said Elizabeth.  "You should have
used correct English, my dear."

"I don't care," said Tommy philosophically.  "Anyhow, she can't say
Mary.  Try again, Fangati," she added, pointing to her sister.

"Mailee," cried the child, showing her teeth in a pretty smile.  "Bess,
Mailee, Me Tommee."

To make quite sure that they had her name correctly, Tommy walked to a
little distance until she was out of sight among the trees, and then
called "Fangati!" in her shrill treble.  The girl instantly jumped to
her feet, and ran after her.

"Well done," said Tommy, patting her.  "You are a perfect dear, and I'm
going to be very fond of you."




CHAPTER XVIII

ANOTHER BROWN FACE

The girls were much surprised that Fangati seemed perfectly content to
remain with them, and showed no disposition to return to her friends.
At first they put this down to lack of strength, thinking that the
child had the prudence not to attempt to cross the island until there
was no risk of breaking down.  But in a few days, when Fangati was as
vigorous and lively as a healthy young animal, this explanation was no
longer tenable.

They were almost equally surprised that, so far as they could tell, no
search had been made for her.  For some days they kept pretty close to
the neighbourhood of the hut, in some fear that their possession of
Fangati might turn to their disadvantage if the natives discovered her.
To be suspected of kidnapping her might bring down upon them the wrath
of her friends.  But when everything went on as before, they lost their
timidity, and made longer and longer excursions from the hut.

Fangati accompanied them everywhere.  They had taught her a few words,
and could make her understand by signs or otherwise what they wanted
her to do.  Their life was so simple that there were few ways in which
she could help them.  She laughed when she saw their manner of fishing,
but did not offer to show them the native method.  She was content with
things as they were.

One day when she had gone with them into the woodland to fetch food,
she gathered a number of large yellowish-green fruits which they girls
had often looked at longingly but which they had never ventured to eat
for fear of poison.  She handed the fruit to them, and made signs to
them to eat.  Seeing their hesitation, she dug her strong teeth into
the hard rind, quickly pulled it off, and showing the juicy pulp,
bright yellow in colour, began to suck it with enjoyment.  At this the
girls followed her example.

"It is delicious," cried Tommy, the juice dripping from her lips.
"What donkeys we were not to try it before!  The bother is, there isn't
enough of it; there's a monstrous big stone in the middle.  I wonder
what it is?"

The fruit was the mango, which they had known hitherto only in the
bottles of chutney which their uncle had brought from India.  Their
pleasure at the discovery of a new fruit impelled Fangati to make
further additions to their menu.  As they passed through the woodland
on their way home, she stopped among some creepers trailing along the
ground, seized a stick, and began to dig with it.  The girls watched
her curiously.  After a little she turned up some tubers that looked
something like potatoes, and lifted them, chattering incomprehensibly,
and pointing to her mouth.

"I believe they are yams," said Mary; "they are very good to eat."

"Then we'll boil some for dinner," said Elizabeth.  "What a useful
little thing Fangati is turning out!"

They took home a few of the roots, and came back in the afternoon with
the boat-hook, with which, however, they dug up the roots no faster
than Fangati with the stick.

Another day, when they went for cocoanuts and failed to find any on the
ground, Fangati pointed to some nuts clustering among the foliage fifty
feet above the ground, and made signs to them to climb up for them.
They shook their heads, whereupon she laughed, ran to one of the trees,
clasped her hands about the slender stem, and began, as it seemed to
the girls, to walk up it.  They held their breath as she nimbly
mounted, and were not easy in mind until, after throwing down several
nuts, she slid to the ground again, laughing with glee.

"Her backbone must be made of india-rubber," declared Tommy.  "I must
try that way."

"No, I won't allow it," said Elizabeth firmly.  "It's not worth while
to risk a broken back.  Fangati can get us all we want."

Fangati introduced them to several other edible plants, of which they
never learnt the English names.  The greater variety of food was very
acceptable, and though their health had been good, except for Mary's
touch of fever, they all declared that they felt better than ever since
Fangati came.  No doubt they owed as much to their new interest in life
as to their change of food.

They had not of late walked to the ridge.  But one day when the oranges
near them had given out, they decided to make an excursion to the
orange grove where Tommy had first seen Fangati.  When they came near
the crest a sudden change in Fangati's demeanour astonished them.
Hitherto she had been as merry as possible, finding cause for laughter
in everything.  But all at once she stopped dead, gave a cry, uttered
the word "tapu," and fled away with every sign of terror.

The girls were amazed at her alarm, and looked about for some
explanation of it, half expecting to see some hideous savage
approaching with uplifted club.  But all that was in sight were the
unvarying features of the landscape, and the row of posts with their
rags of pennants.

They hurried after Fangati, and tried with the little stock of native
words she had taught them, and the few English words she had learnt, to
elicit the explanation of her terror.  She explained fluently enough,
but the only word they caught, because of its constant repetition, was
"tapu."

"That's the same as taboo, I think," said Mary.  "It means something
sacred, but I can't make out what could be sacred there.  It's so
strange, too, because we were quite near the orange grove, and she was
not frightened then--unless she was frightened of you, Tommy."

"I dare say she was," said Tommy; "we were both frightened, but we are
good friends now, aren't we, Fangati?"

"Me Tommee plend," said the girl.

"Are we going back without any oranges?" asked Elizabeth.

"Why should we?" exclaimed Tommy.  "Come along, Fangati."

She led the way towards the ridge again, but Fangati stood and waved
her arms, crying "tapu" again and again.

"Evidently she won't cross the ridge," said Elizabeth; "but we can get
to the orange grove by going round.  Perhaps she will come with us
then."

Striking off at an angle with the ridge, they found that Fangati
accompanied them willingly.  She soon recovered her wonted high
spirits.  They made their way through the undergrowth, and presently
came to an open glade, beyond which lay the orange grove.

Here they were again surprised to see signs of great excitement in
Fangati's face.  The girl stood still for a few moments, looking about
her eagerly; then, uttering a little cry, she darted away, and in a
second or two was lost to view.

"Now what's that mean?" cried Mary.

"There's only one explanation," said Elizabeth.  "She recognizes the
place as being near her home, and she has run away to her friends."

"Oh! what idiots we are!" cried Tommy.  "This was the last place we
should have brought her to.  Now we've lost her!"

"Well, dear," said Elizabeth, "I have often wondered whether we were
right in keeping her.  She belongs to her own people, you know, and not
to us."

"But she didn't want to leave us.  And they don't care a dump about
her, or they'd have come for her long before this.  I'm sure she was
much happier with us than with nasty savages."

"Yet she has left us now," remarked Mary.  "They can't be dreadfully
horrid to her."

"Couldn't you fetch her back, Bess?" asked Tommy.

"I shouldn't much care about it," replied Elizabeth.  "After all, we
don't know what trouble we might be running into.  Perhaps she will
come back to us herself."

After taking some oranges they returned to their own side of the island
by way of the ridge.  Tommy was disconsolate.  All the sisters had
become fond of Fangati, but there was a special tie between her and
Tommy, and she was more often with Tommy than with the others.

For the next two days they talked about little else than Fangati's
defection.  They walked up to the orange grove, in the hope that she
would reappear, but returned without a sight of the little brown face
they had learned to love.  Her departure had left a strange blank; they
felt that something had gone out of their life.  Until then they had
not realized how much she had added to their happiness.

On the third morning after breakfast they were "washing-up" outside the
hut--so they called the clearing away of banana skins, fish bones, and
pieces of shell--when they suddenly caught sight of two figures moving
among the trees some little distance away.  They sprang to their feet
in alarm.  A second glance told them that the figures were those of
natives; and, struck with the idea, that the savages were stealthily
approaching to attack them, they began to run up-stream toward a patch
of thick undergrowth where they could hide.

But they had only taken a few paces when there was a shrill cry of "Me
Tommee!"  They halted hesitatingly, to see Fangati flying towards them,
and her companion standing still at the edge of the woodland.

When Fangati was within a few yards, Tommy, able to restrain herself no
longer, rushed forward and clasped the brown girl in her arms, kissing
her again and again.  Fangati laughed; she laughed at everything; then,
hand in hand with Tommy, ran to the other girls, chattering excitedly.
She pointed to the solitary native, who had not moved, smiled, patted
her own head, threw herself down and clasped Elizabeth's feet, ran a
little way, and then came back looking behind her.

"I think she wants to know if she may bring this other one," said Mary.

"And she wants to make us understand that we shan't be harmed," said
Tommy.  "Let her go, Bess."

"We gain nothing by refusing, so she may as well," said Elizabeth.

She waved her hands toward the second native, and Fangati, who had been
watching her wistfully, bounded off with a gay laugh.

The girls awaited her return with mixed feelings.  They were glad to
see Fangati again, but they did not much desire the acquaintance of a
strange native.  They did not yet know whether it was a man or woman.
This doubt, however, was resolved in a few minutes.  Scanning the
approaching couple anxiously, they saw that Fangati's companion was a
grey, shrunken old man, apparently feeble, for he moved slowly and
leant on the girl for support.

"I believe it's the man we saw at the native hut," said Mary.

"Not much to be afraid of, after all," said Tommy.  "He looks hardly
strong enough to kill a fly."

"How shall we speak to him?" said Elizabeth.

"It will be rather a pantomime," rejoined Tommy.  "Be very grave and
dignified, Bess.  Impress him with your importance, Queen Bess, monarch
of all she surveys."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tommy," said Elizabeth, feeling it was no time
for jesting.  The old man certainly looked harmless enough, but she was
by no means easy in mind.

After what seemed a long time, Fangati led the man up to the girls.

"Bess, Mailee, Me Tommee," she said, pointing to each in turn.

The old man made a salutation, and the girls looked at him with
interest.  His face and every visible part of his body was hideously
tattooed, his thin bare legs looking as if they were covered with
indigo-blue stockings.  A stick was thrust cross-wise through his mop
of grizzled hair.  Certainly he was not a prepossessing object.

The girls were wondering what they ought to do, when they were
surprised to hear the man address them.

"I speak Inglis," he said; "I Maku.  Good-day all-same velly much."

Tommy turned aside so that her smile should not irritate or offend.

Elizabeth, with admirable composure, said--

"How do you do, Mr. Maku!  Fangati is your granddaughter, I suppose?"

It was at once clear that Maku's English was not very abundant.  The
word grand-daughter puzzled him.  He looked at Fangati dully; then his
eyes suddenly brightened.

"Fangati, he my son chile," he said.  "He velly good chile.  He get
plenty piecee me eat.  To-mollow he go; I velly solly, eh! eh!  I cly."

Elizabeth in her turn was puzzled, and it was Mary who first saw the
old man's meaning.

"He says that Fangati got him plenty to eat, but disappeared one day,
and he was very sorry, and cried."

"No wonder, poor old man!" cried Tommy.  "He looks half-starved.
There's no one else living in their hut, then?"

"Have you wife, children, friends?" asked Elizabeth.

The old man shook his head.

"Wife he dead long-timey.  Chil'en big long way."  He waved his arm to
indicate distance.  "Plen: ah! mikinaly he plen; he all-same gone away;
eh! eh! all-same dead."

From this Mary made out that he had a missionary friend who had gone
away and might now be dead.

A few more questions satisfied the girls that, as far as he knew, there
were no more natives on the island except himself and his
granddaughter.  Intensely relieved on this score, they were ready to be
hospitable, and to Fangati's delight, invited the man to come towards
their hut and talk to them.

Seated on the ground in front of the hut with the girls in the
entrance, the old man related a story of which they understood little
at the time.  It was some few days before Mary, thinking over what he
had said, and puzzling about it, arrived at something like a coherent
narrative.  Even then she was only partially successful.  What he had
tried to explain in his scanty English was as follows.

He had been chief of a small island a day's paddling to the eastward.
It was remote from the usual trade-tracks, and for this reason had
remained longer in heathendom and cannibalism than most of the Pacific
Islands.  But a white missionary had at last come and taken up his
abode on the island, by whose skill in medicine, earnest teaching, and
noble character, Maku and some of his sons had been won over.

There were certain soothsayers among the people, who hated the new
teacher when they found their influence with the chief gone.  Working
on the superstitions of the islanders, they secretly stirred up a
revolt.  But for the quickness of Fangati he would have been attacked
and killed.  She discovered what was going on, informed her
grandfather, and persuaded him to put to sea by night in a canoe, with
the intention of paddling to an island to the southward, where Maku
would find friends.  Forced out of their course by wind and current,
they were nearly exhausted when by good fortune they found themselves
on the shore of this island.  They landed, erected a hut, and had since
lived there, not caring to risk another voyage, and finding abundance
of food.

Maku could not say how long he had been on the island, nor were the
girls able to discover whether his arrival had preceded or succeeded
theirs.  He told them that one day Fangati, who had been to gather
fruit, reported that she had seen white people.  Though he thought she
must be mistaken, he bade her run away at once if she saw any one
again, white or brown.  He did not like white people.  Since they came
to the Pacific the brown people had not been happy.  They had been
forced to work; some had been taken from their own islands and carried
away to toil on distant plantations; new diseases had been brought
among them.  He had one friend among the white people--the "mikinaly";
he was a good man and did good things.  He had taught Maku English.

True, Fangati had said that the strangers she had seen were women; but
Maku could not believe that white women could have come to this island
without white men.  And he was desperately afraid of being betrayed to
the ill-disposed mystery men among his own people; for before he had
been long on the island he discovered that it was the scene of certain
ceremonies conducted by these mystery men.  At long intervals, before
he became a Christian, he had himself accompanied his people in solemn
expeditions to the island.  The accession of a new chief was celebrated
with special rites; years and years before, in his heathen days, his
own accession had been marked by a great cannibal feast.  He was much
afraid that white people might sell him to his revolted tribesmen, who
would make him a victim.

When Fangati disappeared he was convinced that she had been captured by
the white people, and he would never see her again.  He missed her very
much, for, being old and infirm, he depended almost entirely on her for
his food.  But when she suddenly returned and told him how she had been
carried out to sea while fishing, and how the white women had rescued
her and treated her kindly, he felt that he must make his presence
known to them, and especially warn them of their danger.

At this Elizabeth asked anxiously what danger was likely to assail
them.  The man hesitated.  Now that it had come to the point he seemed
to be unwilling to say more.  But at length he explained that the spot
at which they had landed was the usual landing-place of his people when
they came to visit the island, and all the ground between it and the
ridge was tapu.  He struggled with his imperfect English in trying to
make clear to the girls what that meant.  They understood at last that
their side of the island was sacred; its grounds were only to be
trodden when the people came to hold their ceremonies, and anybody
trespassing upon it would incur the wrath of the mystery men, and bring
down upon themselves a terrible punishment.  The forbidden ground was
marked off from the rest of the island by a line of poles set upon the
ridge.  Maku confessed that he himself felt very uneasy at having
violated the tapu; and Elizabeth, questioning him, found that beneath
his recently assumed Christianity there lay a deep stratum of
superstition.  When the "mikinaly" was with him tapu had no horrors for
him; but the missionary had left his island some time before the rising
took place, and with the removal of his influence the chief had
relapsed to some extent into the superstitions of his early manhood.

The girls were not at first much alarmed at what he told them.  But
when he added that his people would certainly choose another chief in
his place, and come to the island for the usual inaugural ceremonies,
the thought of being discovered by the savages at such a time filled
them with dread.  Their hut lay in the direct path of the procession to
the ridge; it could not escape detection, and they trembled at the idea
of falling into the hands of people who might be worked up to religious
frenzy by their mystery men.  To violate the tapu would be bad enough
for a brown man; it would be worse for white people.

Maku made a suggestion.  Let them dismantle the hut, he said, destroy
all traces of their occupation, and remove to the other side of the
island, where at least they would not have to reckon with the anger of
the mystery men at finding them on forbidden ground.  The girls
discussed the suggestion earnestly, and decided to follow his advice.
It gave them a pang to pull down the little home to which they had
become accustomed: but they lost no time in setting about it, carrying
the material down to the boat.  Meanwhile, the old man and Fangati
scattered the stones of their oven, and tried to obliterate the signs
of habitation.  Maku shook his head when he saw the bleached grass on
what had been the floor of the hut.  Even in this land of quick growth
it must take some time before so tell-tale an evidence was done away.

It was decided that Elizabeth and Mary should row the boat round to
Maku's landing-place with the canoe in tow, while Tommy walked with the
old man across the island.  The chief did not follow the long route up
the stream by which the girls had reached the ridge, but took a more
slanting course through a wild and rugged region which they had never
explored.  As they were crossing the ridge he pointed out to Tommy in
the distance the entrance to the great cave in which the ceremonies of
his tribe were conducted.  Tommy shivered; the thought of wild men
engaged in mysterious rites terrified her imagination.  Choosing a
steep path that wound down the eastern side of the ridge, Maku led the
two young girls to the open space near the waterfall, and in a few
minutes reached his hut.  He and Fangati at once began to rig up near
by a temporary shelter for the English girls, and it was almost
finished by the time Elizabeth and Mary arrived.

The girls were provided by their new friends with an excellent meal of
fish, breadfruit and other fruits, some of which were strange to them.
Immediately afterwards, Maku and his granddaughter set to work to build
them a hut in the native fashion.  Elizabeth doubted whether they would
like a house which must be inevitably close and stuffy with a doorway
only high enough to crawl through.  Their own hut had been fresh and
breezy.  But it seemed better to let the natives have their way.  They
would build much faster than the English girls; and if strange natives
should make their appearance in this part of the island, they would not
be rendered suspicious as they might be if they saw a hut so different
from what they were accustomed to.

The girls slept in their temporary shelter that night.  They had lost
their fear of savage neighbours, but this had been replaced by a new
fear of possible visitors from beyond.  Tommy had asked Maku during
their walk whether there was any chance of a ship coming to the island.

"No ship," he answered.  "No come this side.  Melican ship come one
time, my place; mikinaly come in Melican ship; all-same, no mo'e."




CHAPTER XIX

THE SHARK

The change of circumstances pleased every one except Billy the parrot.
He had never taken kindly to Fangati, but had always ruffled his
feathers and squawked angrily when he saw her with Tommy.  The girls
laughed at these manifestations of jealousy.  But when Billy was
removed from his home, and found that his mistress's attentions were
shared by still another person, he became sulky.  He would sit on a
rock, or the bough of a tree, blinking his bead-like eyes and
maintaining a sullen and reproachful silence.

Tommy was so much taken up with Fangati that it is to be feared she
somewhat neglected her old favourite, as was perfectly natural under
the circumstances.  When Fangati and her grandfather had finished the
new hut, which occupied them only two days, the young girls were
constantly together.  Tommy, now that her fear of cannibal neighbours
was removed, became again the active, light-hearted, adventurous girl
she had ever been.  She roamed all over the island with Fangati, not
even excepting the region of the tapu, for she found that the native
girl was ready to go in any direction, provided she did not catch sight
of the posts on the ridge.  They discovered in company other
plantations of wholesome fruits, of kinds which Tommy already knew, and
of others which were strange to her.  Fangati showed her how to fish in
the native way with a spear of sharpened wood.  At first Tommy was
sceptical about this, declaring that with the line and hook she would
catch more fish than Fangati with the spear.  But she soon found that
she was quite wrong.  Leaning over the edge of a rock, with her keen
eyes fixed on the water, Fangati would plunge her spear rapidly, and
scarcely ever failed to bring up a fish as large as Tommy caught, and
much more quickly.  Tommy tried to imitate her, and was exceedingly
proud when, after dozens of fruitless attempts, she succeeded in
spearing her first fish.

In the course of one of their early rambles the girls came to the pit
into which Tommy had fallen.  Fangati was much interested in this,
having never seen it before, and she ran to fetch her grandfather to
the spot.  The girls asked him what was the purpose of the pit, and he
thought at first that it had been dug as a storehouse for breadfruit.
But when Tommy told him about the tunnel through which she had crawled,
and of the hole in the wall at the farther end, he looked puzzled and
declared that he would go down and see for himself.  It did not take
long to construct a serviceable ladder with stout canes bound together
with creepers, and the whole party descended into the pit and followed
Tommy through the tunnel.

Arriving at the end, Maku looked curiously over the ledge.  He
explained to the girls that the dim-lit space beyond was the cave in
which the mystic ceremonies of his people were conducted.  The reason
of the existence of the pit was now plain to him.  There was a
tradition among his tribe that one of his predecessor chiefs had shown
an extraordinary knowledge of some of the secret performances of the
mystery men at which he had not been present.

"I unastan," said Maku.  "He find hole; he look; oh! he say, dis fine
place fo' me.  All-same he makee way dis side; makee pit; come 'long,
listen, look see; eh, eh; he know all-same too much."

His explanation was not very clear, but after a time the girls
understood that the former chief, having accidentally discovered the
tunnel opening to the cave, had dug the pit so that he could approach
it from the inland direction, and had thus provided himself with a
means of eavesdropping.  Apparently he had covered the pit with a light
lattice-work--as the breadfruit pit was usually covered--and this in
the course of years had become overgrown with vegetation, so that
nobody could have suspected the hole beneath.

On returning to the surface they pulled up the ladder and laid it among
the trees near by.  More than once during the succeeding days Tommy and
Fangati amused themselves by descending into the pit and chasing each
other in the darkness of the tunnel.  They invented other amusements.
Tommy ran races with Fangati, played at hide-and-seek in the woods,
practised shying at cocoa-nuts.  All the girls had swimming
competitions in the cove at low tide, and though the English girls
became very expert, they were no match for Fangati, who dived and
gambolled in the water as though in her native element.

In constant companionship with Fangati, they learnt in course of time
many native words, and she on her side picked up a smattering of
English.  They were thus able to communicate with her freely.  She
amused them by her mispronunciations.  The letter r was a
stumbling-block.  "Run" was always "lun"; "bekfas leady," she would
say; and she adopted from her grandfather the expression "all-same,"
which she used frequently and in odd connections.

"I lun all-same kick, Me Tommee," she would say, when Tommy had beaten
her in a race; or if, in a game of hide-and-seek, it was Mary's turn to
hide, "Mailee all-same hidee-sik," was her way of putting it.

One day, having had no success at their usual fishing-place at the
mouth of the cove, Fangati proposed that she and Tommy should go to a
spot about half-a-mile up the coast, where she had sometimes caught
fish before the girls came.  Elizabeth had laid no restrictions on
Tommy as regards her fishing excursions, except that she had asked her
not to go out of sight of their little harbour.  Remembering how
Fangati had been carried out to sea, she wished to guard against any
repetition of that mishap.

The spot to which Fangati pointed was beyond the usual limit.  It was
not, however, far distant from the shore, and Fangati had been much
farther out when her canoe was caught by the current.  Elizabeth had
gone with Mary into the interior to gather breadfruit, so that it was
impossible to consult her; and Tommy, anxious to have some fish for
dinner by the time her sisters returned, agreed to try the new place.

They reached it in the canoe, Tommy paddling.  It was a large flat rock
a few hundred yards from the shore, with a deep pool on its inner side.
There they had great success, in the course of half-an-hour spearing
enough fish for several meals.  Thoroughly satisfied, they had just
turned their canoe towards home when Tommy caught sight of a large
shape moving rapidly beneath the surface of the water.

"Oh! what's that?" she cried.

Almost before the words were out of her mouth the canoe quivered under
a terrific shock.  Then it was rocked violently to and fro, so
violently that the sea came over the gunwale and the girls had to throw
themselves on to the opposite side to prevent the slight craft from
overturning.  As they did this there was a sudden sharp sound as of
something snapping.  Instantly the canoe turned over, and the girls
found themselves in the sea.

Fangati laughed.

"All-same jolly fun," she said.

Tommy was not so much amused.  Being able to swim she did not mind the
sudden bath; but all the fish were gone; the morning's work was thrown
away.

Fangati quickly righted the canoe, and having clambered into it, helped
Tommy to regain her place.  There was, of course, a quantity of water
at the bottom of the little vessel.

"What was it?" exclaimed Tommy, shaking the water from her head.  "Was
it a shark?"

Fangati looked about her.  In a moment she pointed to a strange object,
something like the end of a saw, projecting from the bottom of the
canoe.  Tommy had never seen such a thing before.  Stooping down, she
pulled at it.  It was loosely fixed, and came away in her hand.
Instantly there was an inrush of water.

"No, no, silly Billy," cried Fangati, using an expression she had heard
Tommy apply to the parrot.

She snatched the broken sword of the sword-fish from Tommy's hand, and
tried to replace it.  But though she succeeded in wedging it into the
wood, it failed to stop the hole entirely.  Without loss of time she
seized her paddle and started for the shore, about a quarter of a mile
distant.  But the canoe had shipped a considerable quantity of water,
and this was being continually increased by the inflow through the
leak.  It sunk lower and lower, and every minute answered less readily
to Fangati's paddle.  It soon became clear to the girls that the canoe
must sink long before they reached the shore.  They could easily gain
the land by swimming, but the canoe could not be recovered if it sank.

Between them and the shore a rock stood just above the surface.  It was
only about a hundred yards away, and Fangati, exerting all her
strength, drove the canoe towards it, and reached it in the nick of
time.  In another few seconds the canoe must have foundered.

There was not much room on the rock.  Tommy scrambled on to it, while
Fangati, slipping over into the sea, prepared to help Tommy drag the
canoe up, so that they might tilt the water out of it, and try to stop
the leak with a handkerchief, or a part of Tommy's skirt.

They had just begun to tilt the canoe when Tommy caught sight of a
small dark object on the surface of the sea about thirty or forty yards
away.  It was the fin of a shark.

"Fangati, quick!" she called, holding out her hands to help the girl
clamber on to the rock.

Fangati's back was towards the shark and she did not understand what
the peril was.  But the note of terror in Tommy's voice alarmed her.
She let go her hold of the canoe, gained the edge of the rock in two
strokes, and with Tommy's help scrambled up just as the shark glided
past into the deep water beyond.

"Eh!  Eh!" exclaimed Fangati, when she saw the reason of Tommy's
fright.  "I no aflaid, what fo' aflaid of he?  You see, all-same."

She was about to dive into the sea and swim after the canoe, which was
already drifting away, but Tommy caught her and held her fast.  "No,
no, you mustn't," she cried anxiously.

"Boat lun kick," cried Fangati in excitement.

The canoe, relieved of the girls' weight, would no doubt float longer
than if they had still been in it, but Tommy realized that it must soon
sink.

"Never mind," she cried.  "Better lose the canoe than lose you."

Fangati stood beside her for some time, but Tommy soon became aware of
a double danger.  The tide was rising.  Every moment the ripples washed
a little farther over the rock: by and by this would be completely
submerged and they would have to swim to the shore.  The thought of
this necessity filled Tommy with terror.  The shark had disappeared
only for a moment.  She could now see it again, circling about the
rock, as if it knew that it had only to bide its time and the girls
would fall an easy prey.  As soon as there was sufficient depth of
water on the rock they would be absolutely defenceless against the
monster's hungry jaws.

Clinging to Fangati, Tommy called aloud for help; then, glancing
shorewards, recognized that there was little chance of her voice being
heard through the belt of woodland that separated her from the camp.

The sea now thinly covered the rock.  The canoe was rocking on the tide
several yards away; the fin of the shark could still be seen as it
wheeled around.  Fangati, as well aware of the danger as Tommy, could
remain inactive no longer.

"Knife!" she cried eagerly, pointing to Tommy's pocket.

"What are you going to do?" asked Tommy.

"You see.  Kick! kick!" said the girl.

"Don't leave me," pleaded Tommy, handing her the knife.

Fangati looked around as if in search of something.  Suddenly she
snatched Tommy's handkerchief, which was tucked into her belt, and
dived off the rock.  When she disappeared Tommy saw the handkerchief
floating.  In a moment the shark rushed silently through the water,
attracted by the splash.  As it came beneath the handkerchief, which
Fangati had dropped as a decoy, she came up beneath it and plunged the
knife deep into its side.  Then she dived again and disappeared.

The shark, thrashing the water into foam, dashed about in zigzag
fashion.  Tommy watched it fascinated, fearing that it might have
struck Fangati.  But in a moment she heard the girl's merry laugh
behind her.  Fangati came up on the farther side of the rock, on to
which she clambered, splashing through the water to Tommy's side.  The
girls watched the gradually weakening movements of the monster, until
at length with a final heave it sank to the bottom.

"S'im!  S'im!" cried Fangati, pointing to the shore.

"Oh, I couldn't," said Tommy, clinging to the girl.

The possibility of there being other sharks between her and the shore
unnerved her.  Yet if she remained on this rock she must be washed off
presently by the fast-rising tide.  She was in a terrible state of
anxiety, aware that she could not keep her footing long, yet unable to
face the risk of being caught by a shark.  Fangati seemed to guess at
her state of mind.  Disengaging herself from Tommy's grasp, without
waiting for objections, she slipped off the rock and swam rapidly after
the canoe, which was drifting farther and farther down the coast.
Tommy watched her anxiously.  Would she reach the canoe safely?  Could
she return with it in time?

The water was now up to Tommy's waist; she could hardly keep her
footing as the tide surged over the rock.  The gap between the little
black head and the canoe was steadily diminishing.  Tommy gave a gasp
of relief as she saw that Fangati had overtaken the little craft.  But
what was she doing?  She had swum beyond it.  In a moment Tommy saw the
explanation: the paddle had drifted beyond the canoe, and the swimmer
had to recover it first.  Fangati caught the paddle, turned about, and
swimming back to the canoe, climbed over its side.

Tommy was seized with a sickening fear that help would come too late.
The waves were tumbling over the rock with increasing force: her feet
were lifted: she had the presence of mind to tread water, but was all
the time in a state of nervous terror, expecting a shark to come up and
snatch her in its horrid jaws.  She felt that Fangati in the
water-logged canoe could not reach her in time.  Again she screamed for
help.

[Illustration: "SHE FELT THAT FANGATI COULD NOT REACH HER IN TIME."]

There came an answer from behind her.  Turning her head, scarcely able
to keep afloat, she saw Elizabeth in the dinghy sculling towards her.
She swam frantically to meet her: to regain a foothold on the rock was
now impossible.  Elizabeth, glancing over her shoulder, called a cheery
word, and pulled so as to meet her sister.  A few more strokes brought
them together.  Elizabeth shipped oars, but found that she could not
lift Tommy into the dinghy without assistance.  Luckily Fangati was
close at hand in the canoe, now so full of water as to be on the point
of sinking.  When she arrived Tommy was got into the boat, and lay down
exhausted.  Elizabeth pulled her rapidly to land, while Fangati,
disdaining sharks, leapt into the sea, and swam, pushing the canoe in
front of her.

Tommy was very contrite when Elizabeth lifted her on to dry land.  "I
won't do it again, Bess," she murmured, clinging to her sister.  "I
oughtn't to have gone so far.  I was nearly drowned."

"Never mind, dear," said Elizabeth.  "It's all right now.  I was a
little anxious when I got back and found you still away, and I'm so
glad I came to look for you.  Do you know, when I caught sight of
Fangati and couldn't see you I had a most horrible fear.  What
happened?  Why didn't you swim ashore?"

Tommy told her the whole story.  Elizabeth forbore to reproach her.
She saw that the young girl had suffered a terrible fright, and it
would not be necessary to enforce the lesson.  She gave Fangati warm
praise for what she had done, and Tommy's fondness for the native girl
was deepened by this adventure they had shared.




CHAPTER XX

THE PRISONER IN THE CAVE

Since their change of residence the girls had used a fresh look-out
station.  The precipice which they had noticed when they first caught
sight of Maku's hut was very lofty, and from its summit a more
extensive outlook could be obtained than any they had yet enjoyed.  Its
face was unscalable; but Fangati had discovered a means of reaching its
top from the rear.  The way was steep and arduous, but the girls made
light of it.  Every day one of them climbed to the summit, and cast a
searching glance over the sea; but for weeks in succession they saw no
vessel, large or small.

One afternoon, however, Mary was startled on reaching the summit to see
in the distance a small fleet of native canoes approaching the island.
She ran down the hillside at full speed with the news.  Maku instantly
sent Fangati up to examine the vessels, and when by and by she declared
that they were canoes from her own island the old man shook with fright.

The visit was what he had long expected and dreaded.  His people were
coming with their new chief to perform the usual ceremonies in the
cave.  He knew that if he were discovered he could expect no mercy; the
mystery men would seize upon him, and their followers, inflamed with
religious frenzy and palm wine, would tear him to pieces.

The younger girls were beside themselves with terror.  But Elizabeth
rose to the occasion.  She saw that Maku, with a kind of fatalism, was
disposed to await his destiny without stirring a hand to avert it; but
a possible means of escape at once occurred to her.  The canoes were
still some distance out at sea.  The usual landing-place was near the
girls' old settlement on the other side of the island.  It would
probably be dark before the savages landed, so that twelve or more
hours might elapse before the danger became pressing.  In that time it
would be possible to demolish the huts, obliterate the most tell-tale
traces of habitation, and convey enough food to the pit to last them
until the unwelcome visitors had completed their rites and taken their
departure.  The existence of the pit was unknown to them, and though it
was impossible to cover it, there was a chance that, if the savages
should light upon it, they would imagine it to be an old breadfruit
pit, as Maku had done, and never suspect that it communicated with the
cave.

She explained her plan rapidly to the others.  Maku was inclined to do
nothing, but the girls were feverishly ready to attempt any means of
escape.  Elizabeth sent Fangati to the top of the cliff to watch the
canoes, bidding her be careful to keep out of sight.  Then with her
sisters she set to work to tear down their light hut and cast its
materials into the stream.  This would carry them to the sea, and as
the current flowed away from the landing-place they would soon drift
beyond observation.  Before long the energy of the girls galvanized
Maku into activity.  He demolished his hut in the same way.

They then destroyed their fire-places, covered up the blackened earth
with sand, and threw into the stream all the litter that betokened
occupation.  It was impossible to remove all traces; the vegetation
around the little settlement was trampled, and nothing but time could
undo that.

"What about the boat and canoe?" said Tommy.

"We must drag them up among the trees and hope that they will not be
discovered," replied Elizabeth.  "Luckily, there are no fruit-trees in
that clump by the shore, so there's nothing to take the savages there."

The boats were soon hidden among the undergrowth.  Then they collected
their little belongings, kettle, cups, fishing-line and spears, and all
the food they had at hand.  They made their mat-beds into hammocks by
stringing them at the corners with creepers, and filled these with all
they wished to carry away.  By this time it was nearly dark.  Fangati,
flying down the hillside, reported that the canoes had entered the
lagoon by the gap in the reef and had now passed from sight.  It was
clear that they were making for the usual landing-place.  Maku said
that the people would camp for the night on the shore, next day roam
the island in search of food, and in the evening hold a great feast in
the cave.

Having made all their preparations, they set off towards the pit laden
with the hammocks.

"Oh, we can't take Billy," said Elizabeth, noticing that the parrot was
perched on Tommy's shoulder.  "His screaming would ruin us."

Tommy was distressed at the thought of leaving her old pet behind, but
there was clearly no help for it.  The bird's wings being clipped it
could not fend for itself very well, and Tommy decided to carry it down
to the boat and leave it there with enough food for several days.  She
kissed it on parting, fearing that she might never see it again.

They found their ladder where they had left it among the trees.  After
letting down the hammocks they descended one by one, removed the
ladder, and retreated towards the entrance of the tunnel.  Their
passage had left traces on the ground above, which must betray them if
the keen-eyed savages came that way; but there was nothing to bring
them in that direction; and the girls hoped that the pit would be a
secure hiding-place during the three days the savages might be expected
to spend on the island.

The fruits they had brought with them would supply them with food and
drink for several days.  The lack of water, which might have otherwise
distressed them, was partially made up by the juice of oranges and
cocoa-nuts.

They found the atmosphere of the pit close and unpleasant, but
Elizabeth reflected that if nothing happened to alarm them they might
climb up at dead of night and get a little fresh air while the savages
were sleeping.

The girls had little sleep during the first night.  Every few minutes
they would wake and listen, wondering if by some unlucky chance their
hiding-place had been discovered.  They were still more uneasy when day
broke.  What were the savages doing?  Fangati offered to climb up and
spy upon them, but Elizabeth would not permit this.  While they all
remained in the pit they were safe; if the savages should catch sight
of any one, they would, almost certainly, never rest until they had
discovered the whereabouts of the inhabitants.

The hours of daylight dragged slowly away.  The girls scarcely dared to
speak.  Several times Fangati stole along to the end of the tunnel to
see if the savages had yet entered the cave; but there was no sign of
them until the afternoon was far advanced.  Then the girl ran back to
report that there was a great noise below.  She had been much too
frightened to stay any longer; but Maku now said that he would go and
learn who the people were.

He was absent so long that the girls began to be alarmed, and were
thinking of going in search of him, when they heard the light rustle of
his footsteps.  On rejoining them he groaned heavily.

"What is the matter?" asked Elizabeth anxiously.

The old chief groaned again.  He did not reply to Elizabeth, but spoke
in a low tone rapidly to Fangati.  The girls had picked up a good many
native words, but their knowledge of the language was not sufficient
for them to understand this conversation.  From Maku's groans and
Fangati's exclamations of distress they gathered that the chief had
made some disagreeable discovery, and Elizabeth at length insisted on
his telling her what troubled him.

The girls were horrified when they heard what he had to say.  The cave
was full of his own people.  Among them he had seen, by the light of
their torches of cocoa-nut husks, the new chief, a young man who was
high in favour with the mystery men and had led the revolt against
himself.  But what had distressed him was the sight of a prisoner lying
bound against the wall of the cave.  It was a white man, and Maku was
almost sure it was the "mikinaly."  The mystery men could only have one
object in bringing a white missionary to the scene of their dreadful
orgies: he was to be offered up as a sacrifice to their heathen deities.

At this terrible news the girls' blood ran cold.  Dreadful as the
horrors of cannibalism had been to their imagination, the knowledge
that the reality would soon be enacted so near at hand was
overpowering.  The thought of any human creature being tortured and
killed in cold blood was agony to them; and that the victim should be a
white man, a fellow-countryman, within reach of them, and yet beyond
their help, caused them to shrink and quiver as with actual physical
pain.

For some time they sat in silence, clasping their arms about each other.

Every now and again the old man uttered a groan.  They could not see
one another in the darkness, and Tommy's match-lighter was exhausted,
so that they could not obtain a light; but the girls were conscious by
a sort of electric sympathy that Maku and even gay-hearted little
Fangati were scarcely less affected than themselves.

"Will it be to-night?" asked Elizabeth presently, in a whisper.

"No, no," replied Maku; "two days, flee days, den all gone."

This answer only increased the horror of the situation.  The victim was
to linger through three days anticipating his cruel death.  The savages
knew not so much mercy as to send him early to his doom.

"He no 'flaid; he all-same good man," murmured Maku.

"I can't stand it," cried Elizabeth, springing up; "I must see for
myself.  Perhaps something can be done for him."

"Don't, Bess!" exclaimed Tommy, clinging to her.  "What can you do?
They may see you."

"No, they can't do that.  I must go.  Perhaps if I screamed at them
they would take me for an evil spirit and run away."

"But what then?" said Mary.  "You could not go round and release the
poor man; you would be seen."

"Yes; it was a foolish idea.  But something may suggest itself.  Oh, I
can't bear to think about the poor man."

"If you go, I go too," said Tommy.  "I won't leave you."

The two set off, and felt their way stumblingly through the passage.
Presently they were aware of a pungent aromatic smell, that increased
as they went on.  This was explained when they reached the opening in
the wall; looking over stealthily, they saw, sixteen or twenty feet
below them, on the floor of the cave, a strange bewildering sight.  A
ring of dusky men held aloft great flaring torches which gave out a
heavy smoke that penetrated into the tunnel.  Without the circle there
stood a row of drummers beating a rhythmic music on their instruments;
within, a crowd of men were leaping in wild gyrations, uttering
frenzied yells.  In the haze nothing could be seen distinctly; all was
a confused whirl.  The prisoner was quite invisible.

The dance continued for a long time, the movements becoming ever more
violent and fantastic, the cries more frantic, the drumming more swift
and vigorous.  At last, when the din was at its highest, the drummers
gave one tremendous crash and dropped their sticks.  The whirling and
the yells ceased as by magic; the performers flung themselves fainting
on the ground; and there was a great silence.  But only for a few
minutes.  Then the men leapt to their feet again, rushed to the side of
the cave, and returned, bringing the food laid there in readiness, and
many gourds filled with the fermented sap of palm-trees.  The
torch-bearers stuck their torches in crannies on the walls, and the
whole company gave themselves up to feasting.  The girls turned sick as
they watched the ravening gluttony of the men, and withdrew their eyes.

"Let us go back," whispered Tommy.

"No, no, wait," said Elizabeth; "I want to know what will happen."

Crouching below the opening, they waited for what seemed hours.  The
barbarous noise continued, voices were raised in excitement; but
presently the uproar diminished, and finally ceased.  Glancing down
again, they saw the natives lying in all sorts of attitudes.  Exhausted
by the orgy, drunken with wine, they had fallen into a heavy sleep.

Some of the torches had gone out.  Though the illumination was dimmer,
the smoke was so much less that objects could more easily be
distinguished.  Against the wall at the right hand the girls saw what
appeared at first to be a large bundle.  But in a few moments they
recognized the form of a man--an old man with a long white beard.

"It is the missionary!" whispered Elizabeth, clenching her hands in an
agony of despair.




CHAPTER XXI

A DESPERATE ADVENTURE

Heroism is a plant of strange growth.  It springs up suddenly,
mysteriously, in unexpected places.  A simple peasant girl, tending her
flocks, hears a Voice; and she becomes a warrior, a leader of men, the
saviour of her country.  A maidservant, after a day of scrubbing floors
and washing dishes, is darning stockings in the kitchen when she smells
fire, rushes into the bedroom where the children are asleep, and
carries them one by one through the flames into safety, at the cost of
her own life.

Such opportunities fall to few.  The most of us trudge a very unheroic
journey through life.  The road may be dusty, with ups and downs,
dangerous corners and wearisome hills; but we plod along, keeping
pretty closely to the highway, and taking great care at the crossings.
It is only the odd one here and there who, by what we call the accident
of circumstance, or by some compelling adventurousness of spirit,
strays into the golden fields of romance, and is transformed into the
shining semblance of a hero.

Yet the capacity for heroism may be latent under many a sober coat or
homely apron.  The town girl who shudders at a cow, the country girl
who trembles at the looming of a motor omnibus, may show under the
stress of some high emotion, at the call of some great emergency,
qualities that match her with Joan of Arc or Alice Ayres.

Elizabeth Westmacott's life had been very simple and uneventful.  She
had had nothing more difficult to cope with than the ordinary crosses
and perplexities of the daily round at the farm.  She had never come
face to face with mortal peril, or felt any stern demand upon her
courage and endurance.  But as she returned along the tunnel with her
sister a great resolution shaped itself within her mind.  A white man
was in danger of his life; she would at least try to save him.

She was very quiet when she rejoined the little party in the pit.  It
was Tommy who, quivering with excitement, related to Mary what she had
seen.  The younger girls deplored the hapless condition of the old
missionary; they wished he could be saved, but they felt the vanity of
wishing.  Elizabeth sat in silence, thinking hard.

"I must go up and get a breath of air," she said at last.

"I'll come too," said Tommy.

"No, dear, not yet; I want to be alone."

There was something in her tone that set her sister wondering.

"You'll be careful, Bess?" said Mary.

"Yes, I must be careful," was the reply.

Elizabeth climbed up the ladder.  She was gone some time; her return
was announced by a slight rustling thud upon the ground; something had
been thrown into the pit.

"What is that?" asked Tommy.  "Are you all right, Bess?"

"Quite right," said Elizabeth as she descended.  "It is only a lot of
creepers.  We are going to make another ladder."

"Another!  We don't want another."

"The first isn't long enough or the right sort.  I am going to release
the poor missionary."

The girls were for the moment speechless with amazement.  Then Tommy
said--

"You are mad, Bess; it is impossible.  Don't talk such absolute
rubbish."

"It isn't rubbish, dear.  The savages are asleep.  We can let down a
rope ladder.  I will climb down and cut his bonds.  He will be safe if
we get him into the tunnel."

"Oh, how insane you are!  We shan't let you do any such thing."

"You are bound to wake them, Bess," said Mary; "you know how lightly
savages sleep.  They are just like dogs, and wake at a whisper."

"Not when they have fuddled themselves.  I _must_ do it, girls.  I
can't bear to leave the poor old man to his fate without trying to help
him.  It is possible, and you must help me."

Protest, entreaty, expostulation, were alike vain.  Even when Tommy,
with an air of triumph, exclaimed, "The hole isn't big enough for you
to squeeze through," Elizabeth simply replied, "Then we must make it
bigger."

Tommy knew from old experience that her elder sister was rather slow to
make up her mind about anything; but when it was made up nothing would
turn her.  Some people called it firmness, I dare say there was a touch
of obstinacy as well.  It was evident that Elizabeth was thoroughly
determined now, and the younger girls at length desisted from their
attempts to dissuade her, and agreed to help.

Leaving Mary to assist Maku and Fangati in constructing a light ladder
from the creepers she had gathered, Elizabeth set off with Tommy to
return to the cave end of the tunnel.  They had their knives with them.
On arriving at the hole, they saw that the natives were still asleep,
and several of the torches were almost burnt out.  The dimmer light
favoured their work of enlarging the hole, which, as Tommy had said,
was too narrow by several inches for Elizabeth to pass through, still
less the rescued prisoner.

When Elizabeth said that the hole must be made bigger, she had no
definite knowledge whether it was possible.  It was characteristic of
her to form a resolution and then bend everything towards its
accomplishment.  If she had had a favourite motto it would have been
"Where there's a will there's a way."  Nevertheless, it was with some
anxiety that she examined the hole.  One side of it was solid rock; it
would be a week's work to make any impression on it with their knives.
But the other side was of a more friable character.  It appeared to be
formed of fragments that had settled down, and become compacted by the
weight above.  A tentative chipping at this with her knife showed
Elizabeth that it would not be a difficult matter to scrape away enough
to enlarge the hole by more than a foot.

There was danger in the task.  Work as carefully as they might, it
would be impossible to prevent some of the chips and dust from dropping
into the cave.  Luckily, none of the sleepers was immediately beneath
the hole; and Elizabeth thought that by working carefully, collecting
the larger chips and placing them on the floor of the tunnel, they
might obviate the risk of awakening the men by the noise of falling
stones.

They set to work very quietly, not daring even to whisper to each
other.  By making boring movements with the points of their knives they
brought away a good deal of fine dust, which they took in their hands
as far as possible and cast at their feet.  Whenever they found that a
piece of rock of any considerable size was becoming loosened they
ceased work altogether with their knives and worried it out with their
fingers.  At such times the fall of a certain quantity of dust into the
cave could not be avoided, and more than once they stopped, holding
their breath as they listened for some signs of disturbance below.  But
all went well.  All that troubled them was the terrible slowness of the
work.  They were certainly enlarging the hole, but every inch seemed to
take an hour.  Elizabeth wondered anxiously whether they would have
finished before daylight, when it would be too late to go further with
her plan.

Thinking of this, her attention strayed for a moment from her work; and
before she could do anything to prevent it, a large fragment of rock
became detached, and fell with a crash upon the floor of the cave.  The
girls started back, a cold shiver running through them.  They heard
voices, but not so loud or excited as they expected.  They dared not
look out at the hole, in case they were spied from below; but they
guessed that only a few of the sleepers had been awakened, and when,
after some minutes, the sounds diminished and ceased altogether, they
drew breath again.

Apparently the natives had not been alarmed; such falls of rock from
the roof of the cave were probably not uncommon.  After an interval
they resumed their work with renewed courage, not, however, presuming
on their immunity, but taking even more care than before.  A second
fall might not pass so easily.

They continued at the task for hours.  The torches in the cave went out
one by one.  When only one was left alight Elizabeth looked at her
watch.  It was past four o'clock.  The hole seemed to her now wide
enough to admit any ordinary man: but clearly it was too late to
attempt the more difficult part of her plan.  She was tired out.  It
would take some time to fetch the rope ladder from the pit, and before
the prisoner could be released and brought up into the tunnel, daylight
might be upon them.  Besides, the feasters would have slept off the
effect of their orgy, and there would be a perilous risk of their
awakening.  She thought it best to return to the pit and sleep.  If
Maku was right, there was still more than thirty hours' respite, and
she would need all her strength and composure of mind for the final
effort.

The two girls dragged themselves wearily through the tunnel.  Half-way
they heard footsteps approaching them.

"Who's that?" cried Tommy.

"I'm so glad you are safe," replied Mary.  "We have finished the
ladder, though it wasn't easy to make it in the dark, and I was getting
anxious about you."

"We shall have to put it off until to-night," said Elizabeth.  "The
hole is large enough now, but it is too late to do any more.  We are
dead-beat and so terribly thirsty."

They returned to the pit and refreshed themselves with cocoa-nut juice.
But this was a poor substitute for water, and when Fangati heard them
say how they longed for water to drink, and to bathe their hands and
faces, she volunteered to climb up and bring full cups from the stream
that ran hard by.  There was still an hour of darkness left, so
Elizabeth agreed, and the young girl clambered up the ladder, carrying
two of their tin cups.  She returned very quickly, and made the journey
a second time: the girls, after bathing their heads with wet
handkerchiefs, lay down and slept the sleep of exhaustion.

It was high noon when they awoke, ravenously hungry.  Elizabeth carried
the new ladder out into the pit, where there was sufficient light to
examine it.  Considering that it had been made in darkness it proved a
wonderfully successful piece of work, and only needed strengthening
here and there.

"How will you fix it at the hole, Bess?" asked Tommy.  "There is
nothing to fasten it to."

"I had thought of that.  The only way is to bind the top end of it to a
long cane or stem--too long to pass through the hole.  That will do it,
I think.  I wish we had our boat-hook."

"Suppose it should break?"

"I am sure that the ladder won't break: those creepers are
extraordinarily tough, as you know.  And half the strain will be borne
by the wall, so that the pole ought not to snap.  With God's help we
shall succeed, dear."

"I am dreadfully afraid, Bess."

"The only thing I'm afraid of is the savages finding this pit.  If they
should come to it they would certainly notice the newly-trampled
ground, and I don't think anything could save us then.  But we must
hope for the best."

The day passed all too slowly.  How they longed for night to come!
They could not feel easy in mind until they were sure that their
hiding-place was not discovered.  Yet the younger girls dreaded the
night equally, for though the first part of Elizabeth's plan was safely
accomplished, they could not think without horror of their sister
descending among the savages.  Elizabeth's quiet confidence amazed
them.  All that disturbed her was the fear that the prisoner might not
be spared until nightfall.

Several times during the day she went to the end of the tunnel and
looked over into the cave.  On one of these occasions the place was
empty except for the prisoner, who lay where she had seen him before,
motionless.  Was he still alive?  Had his captors given him food and
drink?  She felt an intense compassion for the poor man.  Would there
be time, she wondered, to set him free now, before the savages
returned?  She blamed herself for not bringing the ladder with her; but
reflected that she could not have known that the cave would be
deserted.  Probably by the time she had fetched the ladder and come
back with Maku and some of the others to assist her, the opportunity
would have passed.

But she might speak to the prisoner and let him know that an attempt
would be made to save him.  She looked anxiously towards the mouth of
the cave.  Nobody was in sight.  No sound came from the exterior.  She
might at least venture to make a sound that would attract the attention
of the prisoner and yet not arouse suspicion if it were heard by the
natives.  Leaning slightly over the ledge, she gave a low whistle.  The
prisoner did not stir.  There was no sign that the sound had been
heard, either by him or by another.  She whistled again rather more
loudly.  Still no sign.  Taking courage she bent still lower, and
called in a low, clear tone--

"White man!"

She could think of no other form of address.  Maku had not told her the
missionary's name: she had not thought to ask it.

"White man!" she repeated.

The light was dim, but it seemed to her that the prostrate form moved.
"White man, do you hear me?" she said, panting, watching the entrance
of the cave intently, stretching her ears for the slightest sound.

There came a murmur from below.

"Do you hear me?" she called again.

"Yes," was the answer, in a tone so faint that she could scarcely catch
it.  "Who speaks?"

"Listen!" said Elizabeth.  "Friends are here--English friends.
To-night you will be set free.  You will have to climb a ladder; do you
understand?"

"I hear," said the voice.  "God bless you!"

"Hush!" said Elizabeth in a quick whisper: she had seen a shadow pass
across the entrance.  She withdrew her head.  A man entered, followed
by others, their arms full of food for the night's feast.

She hurried back to the pit, thrilling with excitement.

"He is alive!" she cried.  "I have spoken to him, I told him we would
save him to-night."

"Oh, why did you!" said Mary tremulously.  "Suppose you can't do it!
the poor man will be restless all day.  The savages may notice it and
be on their guard."

"I am sure I did right," said Elizabeth.  "It will be best for him to
be prepared.  If he were released without warning he might be too much
overcome to collect himself, and our chance would be lost.  As it is he
will know what to expect and be ready to help.  Oh, I wish it were
dark!"

Knowing how much depended on her calmness and self-possession,
Elizabeth tried to sleep, but her nervous excitement made this
impossible.  She employed herself during the remaining hours of
daylight in testing and strengthening the ladder, and especially in
ensuring that the loops through which the supporting pole was to pass
were strong enough to bear the strain.  The pole could not be obtained
until the fall of night rendered it safe to issue from the pit.  She
explained carefully to Maku and Tommy, who were to help her, how they
should hold the pole in position across the lower part of the hole, and
how, if they found that she had been discovered, they were to draw up
the ladder immediately and remain perfectly quiet.  At this Tommy's
lips trembled: the idea of losing Elizabeth was dreadful.  But she
determined not to increase the difficulty of her sister's task by any
show of agitation, and accepted her instructions without a word.

As for Maku, he had all along said nothing either for or against the
scheme.  He seemed to have lost all individuality and to move like an
automaton at Elizabeth's bidding.

"What is your missionary's name?" she asked him.

He gave a native name which he was unable to translate; the English
name he had either forgotten or never heard.

As soon as the first shades of evening descended, Elizabeth and Fangati
climbed out of the pit, and after a little search returned with a stout
sapling, which, when a few inches had been snapped off, gave a rod not
so long as the breadth of the tunnel at the farther end, but longer
than the width of the hole.  Having fastened the rope ladder firmly to
this, Elizabeth gave it to Maku to carry, and led the way along the
tunnel.  She had wished Mary to remain with Fangati at the pit, but
Mary declared that she could not bear to be left behind wondering in
the agony of suspense, so the whole party set off, Elizabeth impressing
on them all the need of perfect silence.

They came to the end.  The glare, the acrid smoke, the strident voices,
proclaimed that the ceremonies had already begun.  Elizabeth gave one
glance into the cave, and having seen that the prisoner was still in
the same position she withdrew her eyes; the bestial conduct of the
savages sickened her.  Hour after hour passed.  The din was hideous.
It seemed that the ceremonies on this second night were being
prolonged.  But presently they came to the same sudden end as before.
The drumming and the frenzied chant ceased; instead were heard the
sounds of men engaged in riotous feasting.  Maku was restless; his
faded eyes lit up.  Elizabeth remembered that he must have taken part
in similar orgies, and felt a nervous dread lest the excitement should
communicate itself to him, and he should by some sudden outcry betray
his presence.  She laid her hand on his shoulder and whispered--

"Remember your friend there."

The old man gave a sigh, and shrank away from the hole, murmuring
incomprehensibly in his own tongue.

As on the previous night, the intoxicating liquor drunk by the rioters
produced its effect in somnolence.  One by one they threw themselves
back and fell into swinish slumber.  At last there was silence.
Several of the torches had gone out and not been replaced.  Elizabeth
thought her chance of success would be greatest if she waited until
only one or two remained alight.  She could not wait for absolute
darkness, for some light was necessary for her task, and she must act
while the sleep of the natives was heaviest.

Now that the critical moment had come she was strangely calm.  All
nervousness and excitement had vanished; her whole being was possessed
by one dominating idea--the rescue of the prisoner.  Noiselessly she
let down the flexible ladder, which lay close against the wall.  Then
seeing that Tommy and Maku had grasped the ends of the small pole as
she had instructed them, she prepared to clamber through the aperture.
At the last moment Mary flung her arms round her neck and kissed her
passionately; then she was gone.

She slipped down the ladder very quickly on her bare feet, carrying her
open knife.  She stood on the floor.  The men were for the most part
stretched towards the middle of the cave, but one or two lay near the
prisoner.  Pausing just one moment to look around, she moved quickly
along the wall, holding her skirts close about her as she passed the
sleepers.  She came to the prisoner and stooped.  His eyes were open.
She dared not cut his bonds with rapid strokes, for fear the snapping
should be heard.  Gently she sawed the tendrils that were wound round
about his whole body, all her senses alert.  It seemed ages before the
bonds were all loosened and removed.

The prisoner did not stir.  Elizabeth beckoned to him, but with his
eyes he seemed to try to explain that he was helpless.  One of the
natives moved uneasily, and for one intolerable moment Elizabeth lost
her head.  Then she understood: the prisoner's bonds had been so
tightly drawn, and he had so long remained in the one position, that
his limbs were numbed.  Slipping to her knees, she began to chafe his
legs.  A man at the far end of the cave gave a cough, and a hot wave
surged through the girl.  At that moment she could have wished the
earth to open and swallow her.  But once again there was silence, and
the terror passed.

In a few minutes the prisoner was able to move his legs.  Alternately
bending and straightening them, he felt them tingling with the coursing
blood.  Elizabeth rose, glanced timorously round, and held out her
hands to him.  He got up, staggered, and would have fallen but for her
sustaining arms.  There was not enough space for both to pass abreast
between the wall and the prostrate natives.  Walking backwards,
Elizabeth led him slowly towards the waiting ladder.  Every step was
painful to him, and as he crept feebly on, Elizabeth's heart misgave
her; would he have the strength to climb?  They came to the foot of the
ladder.  All the torches were now extinguished save one.  Complete
darkness would have been welcome if only Elizabeth could have had
confidence in the old man's strength.  She pointed to the ladder, then
upwards towards the gap.  The missionary understood.  For an instant
Elizabeth hesitated.  Should she go first, leaving the prisoner to
follow, or see him in safety before she mounted herself?  A moment's
consideration showed her that she must be the first to climb.  Maku and
Tommy would need all their strength to keep the pole in position; the
missionary was tall and no light weight; he could not scramble through
the hole unaided; therefore she must be there to help him.  She dared
not speak to him, but in dumb show she indicated what he must do.  He
nodded.  Then she gave a slight tug upon the ladder as a sign to those
above, and nimbly mounted.

She reached the top, slid through the hole, and looked back.  The old
man was beginning to climb.  With fast-beating heart she watched him,
dreading that now, even at the last moment, he might miss his footing
and fall back among his mortal enemies.  They slept on.  Slowly,
carefully, the climber drew himself up.  To Elizabeth, fixing her eyes
on him, it seemed that he would never reach her.  The ladder creaked;
would the sleepers waken?  She looked anxiously towards them; they did
not move.  Inch by inch he came nearer; he had almost gained the top,
when he swayed and for one terrible moment she thought he was lost.
But with a great effort he recovered himself; he mounted again; his
head was level with the hole.  Elizabeth thrust out her arms, gripped
his wrists, and drew him into the tunnel, holding him firmly with her
strong, supple hands.  He was through.

But his shoulders had pressed heavily upon the sides of the hole, and
his feet had not touched the floor of the tunnel when several fragments
of loosened rock fell and struck the ground with a resounding clatter.
There was commotion below.  Quick as thought Elizabeth drew up the
ladder, leaving Mary to support the old man, whose efforts had
exhausted him.

As the ladder came through the hole it caught a fragment of rock that
lay on the ledge.  Elizabeth dashed forward to prevent this from
falling.  But it escaped her and fell crashing to the ground at the
feet of one of the natives, who was looking up in wonderment at the
strange thing crawling as it were into the wall.

A yell proclaimed his discovery.  All hope of secrecy was at an end.
Instantly the cave was filled with uproar.  The sleeping men had leapt
to their feet.  At first their cries were of amazement and alarm, but
one blew the flickering torch into flame, others kindled fresh torches
at it, and in the illumination they saw that their prisoner was gone.
In his place were the severed bonds, and beside them Elizabeth's open
knife, which in her anxious help of the old missionary she had
forgotten.

With yells of rage the natives dashed hither and thither, pointing at
the gap in the wall, in too great a frenzy of excitement to hit on a
means of pursuing the prisoner.  One picked up a trade gun and fired,
but the uselessness of this must have been apparent to them all.
Suddenly, at a word from their chief, six of them darted from the cave
into the open.  In a few minutes they returned, bringing two straight,
young trees which they had uprooted from the loose soil outside.  These
they set against the wall, and with hideous shouts of anticipated
triumph they began to swarm up towards the hole.




CHAPTER XXII

FRIENDS IN NEED

Meanwhile at the moment of discovery the little company in the tunnel
was overcome with horror and despair.  The strain of the last few
minutes had told upon Elizabeth's strength.  She trembled in every
limb.  The others were as though paralysed; and the missionary,
bewildered and unstrung, stood helpless, his arms clasped by Mary in a
convulsive grip.

The glare of the rekindled torches threw a sudden light upon the end of
the tunnel.  The report of the shot seemed to shock Elizabeth into
renewed energy.  "Back to the pit!" she cried.  "Mary, go first with
the missionary."

He had now recognized Maku, and was lost in amazement.  The whole party
set off along the tunnel.  Elizabeth guessed that the ascent of the
wall would offer no difficulties to men practised in climbing cocoa-nut
palms, and though she was urging her friends towards the pit she had no
hope of ultimate escape.

The light soon failed.  They had perforce to move slowly, and Mary
warned the missionary that presently when the roof became lower he
would have to crawl on hands and knees.  She stretched her arms above
her head so that she might know when the time for stooping came.  The
rest followed close behind, Elizabeth bringing up the rear.

The lowest part of the tunnel was about one-third of its length from
the gap.  As she crawled through this with Tommy immediately in front
of her, Elizabeth had a sudden thought which turned despair into hope.
The roof was no more than three feet above the floor.  If only the
narrow space could be blocked, an effective obstacle to pursuit would
be set up.  Was it possible?  This portion of the tunnel was but a few
yards in length.  As soon as she was able to stand again she called to
the rest to halt.

"Have you your knives?" she asked her sisters when they came to her.

"Yes," they both answered.

"Come with me, Mary," she said, taking Tommy's knife from her.  "Go on
with the others; we will follow soon."

Mary and she returned to the point where the roof sloped, and
Elizabeth, slipping to her knees, began to prod at it with the knife.
To her great joy a shower of loose shale fell.

"Help me, Mary; work as hard as you can."

They plied their knives energetically.  The missionary, anxious to
learn what they were about, joined them, and, having no other
implement, lifted a piece of hard rock and prodded at the roof with
that.  Soon a considerable heap of earth and shale was piled up on the
floor.  But their tools were poor substitutes for pickaxes, and
Elizabeth feared that there would not be time to block the tunnel
effectively before the savages arrived.

All at once there was a tremendous crash, and the girls started back in
alarm, not quickly enough to escape some clods of earth that struck
them heavily.  The loosening of the under layer of the roof had
disturbed the mass above, and there had now fallen upon the floor an
immense quantity of debris which completely blocked the tunnel, and
could only be removed with long labour.

Elizabeth gave a cry of joy.

"We are saved for the present," she said.  "Come!"

They hurried after the others, whom they overtook just as they reached
the opening into the pit.

"We can't stay here," said Elizabeth; "they'll know there must be
another entrance, and will discover it as soon as it is light.  We must
get up into the woods and hide."

"The precipice!" said Mary instantly.

"We could hardly get there in the dark," replied Elizabeth; "it's too
dangerous.  But we must go as near it as possible, and climb to the top
when we can see our way."

They wasted no time, but set up the ladder at once and clambered out of
the pit.  Their haste was such that none thought of taking with them
any of their belongings until Elizabeth, at the last moment, remembered
that there were no fruit-trees where they were going.  She collected
all the food that remained and handed it up to her sisters, together
with their kettle and tin cups.

To Fangati was given the task of leading the party through the woods.
Their destination was a little hollow some distance away on the reverse
side of the precipice.  It was thickly covered with trees, and would
afford shelter for the rest of the night.  As soon as they dared they
would climb to the summit, a feat which in the darkness would be
hazardous in the extreme.

Fangati was an unerring guide, and a quarter of an hour's uphill walk
brought them to the wooded hollow.  Elizabeth and Mary each took an arm
of the missionary to assist him; indeed, Elizabeth felt the need of
support herself; her strength was nearly exhausted.  Not a word was
spoken during the journey.  All ears were strained to catch sounds from
below.  For a time they heard nothing, but presently the cries of the
islanders came faintly on the air from afar.  These ceased before they
reached their shelter, and it seemed that the pursuit was taking
another direction.

They sank upon the ground beneath the trees.

"Let us thank God for all His mercies," said the missionary, and in
tones little above a whisper, he uttered a few simple words of
gratitude and of entreaty for protection during the night.

"I am filled with amazement at my marvellous deliverance," he said to
Elizabeth.  "I know Maku and Fangati, but who are you, my dear young
ladies, and how came you upon this island?  Have you nobody else with
you?  But I am inconsiderate; you must be very weary: doubtless you
will tell me all in the morning."

"I am tired," Elizabeth confessed; "but I could not sleep, and the joy
of hearing an English voice is greater than I can tell."

There was a sob in her voice.  Mary clasped her hand.

"I will tell our story, Bess dear," she said; "lay your head in my lap
and rest."

So Mary quietly began to relate the story of their voyage.  As she
casually mentioned the name of the vessel the missionary interrupted
with an exclamation.

"The _Elizabeth_!  Was her skipper Captain Barton?"

"Yes," said Mary in surprise.  "Did you know Uncle Ben?"

"Know him!  He was one of my oldest friends.  I met him in London a few
days before he sailed; indeed, he offered to bring me back in his own
vessel.  He mentioned that his nieces were accompanying him.  What has
happened?"

Mary went on to tell of the wreck, the landing on the island, and the
simple outline of their life since.

"Marvellous," said the old man; "and my poor old friend!--you saw
nothing of the raft?"

"Nothing.  Do you think that there is any chance at all that Uncle Ben
was saved?"

"I cannot tell.  Strange things happen in the providence of God.  I see
the hand of God in your presence here; but for that I should not have
lived another day.  We can but trust that my old friend is safe.  He
may be on one of these many islands.  I hope so."

In answer to a question from Mary he related how he had gone from
London to San Francisco, and sailed thence in an American ship for the
South Pacific.  Having made a tour of the mission-stations, he had only
reached his own island a few days ago.  He had been met on the shore by
the natives with every mark of welcome; the absence of the chief was
plausibly explained; but the vessel had no sooner departed than he was
seized and tied up.  He expected instant death, but had been reserved
for sacrifice at the ceremonies in connection with the inauguration of
the new chief.

"Did they give you food?" asked Tommy.

"Yes, my dear, or I should never have had the strength to profit by
your sister's brave deed.  Do you know, when I heard her voice, I
thought it had been the voice of an angel, speaking to me as the angel
spoke to St. Peter in prison.  The remembrance of how the apostle was
set free was very cheering as I lay waiting for night.  Your sister has
indeed been an angel of deliverance.  I thank God, who put courage into
her heart."

They talked until the light of dawn stole through the trees.  Elizabeth
had fallen asleep.  Without disturbing her the others rose and went to
the edge of the clump of woodland, whence a considerable portion of the
island was visible.  No savages were in sight or hearing.  They made a
breakfast of fruit, and when Elizabeth awoke, and had eaten, they took
their way with many precautions up the steep ascent to the summit of
the precipice.

There grew upon it a few palm-trees, which did not afford as good a
screen as the clump they had just left.  On the other hand it commanded
a wider outlook over the sea.  They hoped that the savages, failing to
discover them, would eventually return to their island.  Only when they
saw the canoes departing would it be safe to venture down again.

Their situation gave them much anxiety.  Their stock of food was small,
and they had now another mouth to feed.  Already they felt the lack of
water.  The stream that flowed near the pit and plunged down over the
waterfall was too far distant for them to attempt to visit it; and
while the savages were on the island the still longer journey to the
stream near the site of their original hut was out of the question.
They hoped with all their heart that the intruders would soon depart.

But this hope died as the day wore on.  From time to time they heard
shouts, now distant, now nearer at hand.  Clearly the men were
searching for them.  Once they were greatly alarmed when they caught
sight of dusky figures crossing the open ground below their recent
settlement, and knew by their shouts and gestures that they had
discovered traces of habitation.  The natives had indeed already come
upon the pit and searched it.  By good fortune they had followed the
tracks down to the shore instead of up into the higher ground.  They
scoured the copse in which the boat and canoe had been placed, and on
discovering them hastened along the shore in both directions.  No doubt
it was only the apparent inaccessibility of the precipice that
prevented them from suspecting that as the fugitives' place of refuge.

The day passed.  The little party lay in the shade of the trees, and
kept as still as possible; but they were much distressed by heat and
thirst, and at the fall of night the girls felt thoroughly worn out.
Mr. Corke, the missionary, arranged that they should sleep through the
night, while he and the two natives kept watch.

Elizabeth was very unwilling that this task should be undergone by the
old man; but he assured her that he was very tough, and had quite
recovered from the effects of confinement, owing to the fortunate
circumstance that the islanders had not deprived him of food.

When the next morning broke, and the girls, feeling weak and ill, rose
from their hard couches, they were amazed to discover that Mr. Corke
was no longer with them.

"Where is he?" asked Elizabeth anxiously.

"He go fetch water," said Maku.  "He say mus' have water, so he go down
all-same fetch some."

"Why did you let him?  Why didn't you wake us?" cried Elizabeth in
great distress.

"He say mus' go," persisted the old chief.  "He say you do lot fo' he,
he do little t'ing fo' you."

Tommy ran to the edge of the plantation to look for the missionary.
Her sisters heard her give a low cry, and next moment she came running
back to them, her eyes ablaze with excitement.

"A ship!  A ship!" she cried.

The startling news was almost overwhelming.  For a moment the girls
stood as though rooted to the ground, then they rushed forward,
following Tommy, who had already darted back towards the edge.  Their
hearts leapt within them as they saw, far out at sea, a line of black
smoke, and beneath it the low hull of a steamer.

"Is she coming this way?" said Mary anxiously.

"Oh, I do hope so," said Elizabeth.  "We must make a signal.  Let us
tie our handkerchiefs together; Fangati can climb one of the trees with
it."

In a few moments Fangati had climbed a tall stem, and tied the three
knotted handkerchiefs to a branch projecting towards the sea.  Then the
girls remembered Mr. Corke, whom in their momentary excitement they had
forgotten.  There was no sound from below; the natives had certainly
not yet seen him, or shouts would have announced their delight.

But his continued absence made the girls ache with dread.

They watched the steamer eagerly; the hull was enlarging; it was
approaching rapidly; it was heading straight for the island.  The
signal had apparently been seen.  But there was still no sign of the
missionary.

When the vessel was about half-a-mile from the shore its motion ceased.

"They are afraid to come closer because of the rocks," said Mary.
"Look, they're lowering a boat."

But at this moment their attention was withdrawn from the steamer by
startling sounds from below--loud, fierce shouts mingled with the
report of fire-arms.

"Oh!  I'm afraid they've caught him," exclaimed Elizabeth, clasping her
hands in distress.

They ran along the edge of the precipice to a spot where they had a
better view of the open ground from the cove to the site of their huts.
The din was increasing in volume and fury, but as yet nothing could be
seen.  Suddenly, from beyond the jutting edge of a crag, they saw the
missionary running with all his might, not towards them, but towards
the sea.  The girls wondered at this, for he could not have caught
sight of the steamer, owing to the trees.  It dawned on them afterwards
that the chivalrous old man, in his care for them, was leading the
pursuers away from their hiding-place.

Quivering with apprehension they watched the runner.  Presently, less
than a hundred yards behind him, a horde of savages burst into view,
uttering frantic yells, as they leapt after their expected victim.  For
some moments he disappeared from the view of the anxious spectators on
the precipice, hidden by the intervening trees.  Then he emerged again;
he was still running at a speed amazing in a man of his years.  What
would be the end of the race?  The pursuers were gaining on him; they
were hard at his heels: it seemed impossible that he should not be
overtaken.

He was now upon the beach.  A few yards of sand separated him from the
sea.  He stumbled, recovered himself, dashed on again, and to the
girls' horror plunged into the water.  The terrifying image of hungry
sharks rose in their minds.  Several of the pursuers halted and
levelled their guns at the swimmer, others plunged in after him,
evidently determined not to be baulked of their prey.

All this time the attention of the girls had been divided between this
scene on the shore and the steamer's boat, which was rapidly
approaching.  They could not tell whether it had been seen either by
the pursuers or the fugitive.  They watched in breathless excitement.
The boat was drawing nearer to the swimmer, but the foremost of the
savages was nearer still.  Suddenly there was a flash and a puff of
smoke from the boat, followed by a report.  The brown men stopped:
there was a moment's hesitation, then they were seen striking out
vigorously for the shore.

"Saved!  Saved!" cried Tommy, dancing for joy.  "Oh, let's go and meet
them, Bess."

"Better wait, dear," said Elizabeth, whose lips were quivering.  "Let
them drive the savages away first."

In tense excitement they watched the missionary lifted into the boat.
It was too far distant as yet for them to distinguish its occupants.
As soon as the missionary was aboard the sailors dipped their oars
again and pulled lustily for the shore.  The girls strained their eyes.
The newcomers might be Dutch, French, English, or American; they were
white men; the long captivity was ended.

The boat had almost reached the beach.  Suddenly Tommy gave a scream,
and clutched at Mary's arm.

"It's Uncle Ben!  It's Uncle Ben!" she cried.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE HOME-COMING

Who can describe the happiness of friends long parted when they meet
again!  As there is a grief too deep for tears, so there is a joy too
intense for words to express.  Let the reader picture to herself the
meeting of uncle and nieces, the sober satisfaction of Mr. Purvis, the
ecstasy of little Dan Whiddon, the jolly faces of Long Jimmy, Sunny Pat
and the rest.

Uncle Ben's story was a simple and natural one.  He had no sooner
launched the raft with all his crew on board, than the _Elizabeth_ went
down with a gurgle and was seen no more.  The raft drifted about for
days at the mercy of every current, until it was sighted by a merchant
brig.  The castaways were picked up, but in spite of Captain Barton's
entreaties the skipper would not alter his course to search for the
girls.  He was bound for San Francisco with a perishable cargo, and
declared that he could not waste time and money scouring the South
Pacific for any females, even were they princesses or queens.

At San Francisco Captain Barton chartered a steamer.  He never spoke of
the pang this must have cost him.  Those who knew the old man guessed
how bitterly he felt the necessity, at the close of his career, of thus
tacitly admitting the superiority of steam over sails.

The steamer had made for Maku's island, Captain Barton hoping to enlist
the services of Mr. Corke and the people in the search for his nieces.
Learning on his arrival that Maku had disappeared, and that the
missionary had been carried away to the sacred island, he at once
started to rescue his friend.  He was distressed at the interruption of
his primary quest, but when Mr. Corke's whereabouts was a certainty,
while his nieces' very existence was doubtful, he felt that the nearer
duty must be accomplished first.  His delight at being able to rescue
the girls, his friend, and the old chief at the same time may be
imagined.

His action on the island was summary.  On learning the state of
affairs, he sent the steamer along the shore to the spot where the
native canoes were beached, drove off the infuriated natives with a
warning shot from his brass gun, and had the canoes towed out to sea.
He said he did not hold with revolutions, and meant to reinstate Maku
in his old chiefdom.  Since those of his disaffected subjects who had
come to the island were the mystery men and their principal supporters,
he decided to leave them there with their new chief, having learnt that
they would have no difficulty in finding sustenance.  He would carry
back Maku and Fangati with the missionary to their island, and to
ensure that they should not be molested by the revolutionaries he
determined to take the canoes in tow, and so leave them without the
means of crossing the sea.

The girls left the scene of their adventures without regret.  Looking
back upon their life there, they acknowledged that it had been on the
whole happy, and their terrors seemed trifling now that they were free
from them.  Tommy did not fail to seek for her parrot, which she found
disconsolate in the boat, and which, she declared, spoke to her for the
first and last time in its life when she took it up and perched it on
her shoulder.  She was very reluctant to part with Fangati, and tried
to persuade her uncle to take her back to England with them; but the
old man assured her that the girl was happier in her own land, and put
an end to the subsequent discussion with one of his crusted aphorisms.


There is a little town in Surrey which, though not far from London,
preserves a good deal of the charm of the country.  Its roads are
shaded with unlopped trees; its houses lie amid pleasant gardens; and
being away from the main routes it is not devastated by motor cars.

In the front garden of one of the houses rises a tall white mast,
complete with yards and halyards.  Over the entrance stands the model
of a full-rigged barque.  In the hall a white parrot spends a placid
but noisy existence.  These emblems of the nautical life are confined
to the front of the house; at the back there is a tennis lawn, a
well-kept flower garden, with glass-houses, and an orchard.

Captain Barton was advised to take this house by his lawyer, who wished
to let it for a client.  A tramp through Deptford and Rotherhithe soon
convinced him that, however well suited those riverside suburbs may
have been to seafaring men in the days of Queen Bess, they did not
offer much attraction nowadays to a retired mariner with three nieces.
And having assured himself that the country town in question had an
excellent high school for girls, with a practising school attached, he
followed his lawyer's advice--for once in a way, as he said.

Elizabeth keeps house for him, spending a good deal of time in the
garden.  She is assisted there by Dan Whiddon, who does not grow very
fast, although the Captain makes him climb the mast once a day for the
sake of stretching his limbs.  Mary is learning how to teach, and Tommy
is in the fifth form at school, champion in tennis, and a dashing
forward in the hockey team.  Her first reports made her uncle screw up
his mouth, and rub his bald pate, and ask Elizabeth what on earth was
to be done with a minx like that.  "Has good abilities, but lacks
application," he quoted.  "Much too talkative.  Has lost too many
conduct marks this term."  Elizabeth begged him to be patient, assuring
him that Tommy would turn out quite well in time.  And as the same
mistresses who penned the above remarks are all wonderfully fond of
Tommy, and she is the most popular girl in the school, it is evident
that she has at least one most enviable quality, the power of winning
friends.

A visitor often comes to the house, at whose appearance Captain Barton
retires to his den and grumps and growls over his beloved pipe.  The
young electrical engineer whom the girls had met in Valparaiso will
certainly get on in the world, if dogged persistence has its reward.
Though they had then been unable to give him any address, and had held
no communication with him since, they had not been settled more than a
week before he called.  "The impudence of the fellow!" said Captain
Barton inwardly, when Elizabeth introduced the visitor.  Through the
wreaths of smoke from his pipe the worthy Captain sees visions of
Elizabeth keeping house for some one else, and the poor man, I fear it
must be confessed, is jealous.  Tommy looks on with a humorous twinkle
in her eye.

"Poor old Nunky!" she thinks.  "He's wondering what in the world he'll
do when Bess is married, and Mary's away teaching, and he's left to the
tender mercies of _Me_!"

But I have watched many girls in my time, and I shouldn't be at all
surprised if Tommy--she will have her hair up and be Miss Katherine
Westmacott then--develops into a very capable housekeeper.  She will
certainly be what an old lady friend of mine calls "a bit of sunshine
in the home."




_Richard Clay & Sons, Ltd., London and Bungay._




BOOKS FOR GIRLS


PUBLISHED BY

HENRY FROWDE AND HODDER & STOUGHTON


THE RED BOOK FOR GIRLS

EDITED BY

Mrs. HERBERT STRANG

A miscellany for girls, containing a large number of complete original
stories by popular writers; extracts from great authors; articles and
poems.  Illustrated with 12 plates in colour by HUGH THOMSON, W. R. S.
STOTT, N. M. PRICE, CHARLES PEARS, and other artists, and numerous
black and white drawings.  288 pages.  Crown 4to, cloth, 3/6; picture
boards, cloth back, 2/6; also in full gilt, 5/-.


SOME OF THE CONTENTS

  PAULINA'S ADVENTURE.  By MARY COWDEN CLARKE.
  ABOU CASSEM'S OLD SLIPPERS.
  AN IOWA HEROINE.  By AMY BARNARD.
  ANNE ELIZABETH.  By ALICE MASSIE.
  CATHERINE DOUGLAS.  By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.
  THE LAST STRAW.  By ESMEE RHOADES.
  MAGGIE RUNS AWAY.  By GEORGE ELIOT.
  THE DOG AND MAISIE.  By MRS. HERBERT STRANG.
  ENID'S ADVENTURE.  By BESSIE MARCHANT.
  THE YOUNG TOY-MAKERS.  By MABEL QUILLER-COUCH.
  MY MONKEY JACKO.  By FRANK BUCKLAND.




Stories by Popular Authors


CHRISTINA GOWANS WHYTE

Uncle Hilary's Nieces

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges.
6/-.

Until the death of their father, the course of life of Uncle Hilary's
nieces had run smooth; but then the current of misfortune came upon
them, carried them, with their mother and brothers, to London, and
established them in a fiat.  Here, under the guardianship of Uncle
Hilary, they enter into the spirit of their new situation; and when it
comes to a question of ways and means, prove that they have both
courage and resource.  Thus Bertha secretly takes a position as
stock-keeper to a fashionable dressmaker; Milly tries to write, and has
the satisfaction of seeing her name in print; Edward takes up
architecture and becomes engrossed in the study of "cupboards and
kitchen sinks"; while all the rest contribute as well to the
maintenance of the household as to the interest of the story.

"We have seldom read a prettier story than ... 'Uncle Hilary's Nieces.'
... It is a daintily woven plot clothed in a style that has already
commended itself to many readers, and is bound to make more
friends."--_Daily News_.



The Five Macleods

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt
edges.  6/-.

The modern Louisa Alcott!  That is the title that critics in England
and America have bestowed on Miss Christina Gowans Whyte, whose
"Story-Book Girls" they declare to be the best girls' story since
"Little Women."  Like the Leightons and the Howards, the Macleods are
another of those delightful families whose doings, as described by Miss
Whyte, make such entertaining reading.  Each of the Five Macleods
possesses an individuality of her own.  Elspeth is the eldest--sixteen,
with her hair "very nearly up"--and her lovable nature makes her a
favourite with every one; she is followed, in point of age, by the
would-be masterful Winifred (otherwise Winks) and the independent Lil;
while little Babs and Dorothy bring up the rear.

"Altogether a most charming story for girls,"--_Schoolmaster_.



Nina's Career

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt
edges.  6/-.

"Nina's Career" tells delightfully of a large family of girls and boys,
children of Sir Christopher Howard.  Friends of the Howards are Nina
Wentworth, who lives with three aunts, and Gertrude Mannering.
Gertrude is conscious of always missing in her life that which makes
the lives of the Howards so joyous and full.  They may have "careers";
she must go to Court and through the wearying treadmill of the rich
girls.  The Howards get engaged, marry, go into hospitals, study in art
schools; and in the end Gertrude also achieves happiness.

"We have been so badly in need of writers for girls who shall be in
sympathy with the modern standard of intelligence, that we are grateful
for the advent of Miss Whyte, who has not inaptly been described as the
new Miss Alcott."--_Outlook_.



The Story-Book Girls

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges.  6/-.

This story won the £100 prize in the Bookman competition.  The
Leightons are a charming family.  There is Mabel, the beauty, her
nature strength and sweetness mingled; and Jean, the downright, blunt,
uncompromising; and Elma, the sympathetic, who champions everybody, and
has a weakness for long words.  And there is Cuthbert, too, the clever
brother.  Cuthbert is responsible for a good deal, for he saves
Adelaide Maud from an accident, and brings the Story-Book Girls into
the story.  Every girl who reads this book will become acquainted with
some of the realest, truest, best people in recent fiction.

"It is not too much to say that Miss Whyte has opened a new era in the
history of girls' literature....  The writing, distinguished in itself,
is enlivened by an all-pervading sense of humour."--_Manchester
Courier_.



A NEW ALBUM FOR GIRLS

My Schooldays

In four forms: Velvet Calf, boxed, 8/6 net; Padded Leather, 6/- net;
Leather (or Parchment tied with ribbon), 5/- net; Cloth, olivine edges,
2/6 net.

An album in which girls can keep a record of their schooldays.  In
order that the entries may be neat and methodical, certain pages have
been allotted to various different subjects, such as Addresses,
Friends, Books, Matches, Birthdays, Concerts, Holidays, Theatricals,
Presents, Prizes and Certificates, and so on.  The album is beautifully
decorated throughout.



J. M. WHITFELD

Tom who was Rachel

A Story of Australian Life.  Illustrated in Colour by N. TENISON.
Large crown 8vo, cloth, olivine edges.  5/-.

This is a story of Colonial life by an author who is new to English
readers.  In writing about Australia Miss Whitfeld is, in a very
literal sense, at home; and no one can read her book without coming to
the conclusion that she is equally so in drawing pen portraits of
children.  Her work possesses all the vigour and freshness that one
usually associates with the Colonies, and at the same time preserves
the best traditions of Louisa Alcott.  In "Tom who was Rachel" the
author has described a large family of children living on an up-country
station; and the story presents a faithful picture of the everyday life
of the bush.  Rachel (otherwise Miss Thompson, abbreviated to "Miss
Tom," afterwards to "Tom,") is the children's step-sister; and it is
her influence for good over the wilder elements in their nature that
provides the real motive of a story for which all English boys and
girls will feel grateful.



ELSIE J. OXENHAM

Mistress Nanciebel

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine
edges.  5/-.

This is a story of the Restoration.  Nanciebel's father, Sir John
Seymour, had so incurred the displeasure of King Charles by his
persistent opposition to the threatened war against the Dutch, that he
was sent out of the country.  Nothing would dissuade Nanciebel from
accompanying him, so they sailed away together and were duly landed on
a desolate shore, which they afterwards discovered to be a part of
Wales.  Here, by perseverance and much hard toil, John o' Peace made a
new home for his family, in which enterprise he owed not a little to
the presence and constant help of Nanciebel, who is the embodiment of
youthful optimism and womanly tenderness.

"A charming book for girls."--_Evening Standard_.



WINIFRED M. LETTS

The Quest of The Blue Rose

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine
edges.  5/-.

After the death of her mother, Sylvia Sherwood has to make her own way
in the world as a telegraph clerk.  The world she finds herself in is a
girls' hostel in a big northern city.  For a while she can only see the
uncongenial side of her surroundings; but when she has made a friend
and found herself a niche, she begins to realize that though the Blue
Rose may not be for her finding, there are still wild roses in every
hedge.  In the end, however, Sylvia, contented at last with her
hard-working, humdrum life, finds herself the successful writer of a
book of children's poems.

"Miss Letts has written a most entertaining work, which should become
very popular.  The humour is never forced, and the pathetic scenes are
written with true feeling."--_School Guardian_.



Bridget of All Work

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges.  5/-.

The scene of the greater part of this story is laid in Lancashire, and
the author has chosen her heroine from among those who know what it is
to feel the pinch of want and strive loyally to combat it.  There is a
charm about Bridget Joy, moving about her kitchen, keeping a light
heart under the most depressing surroundings.  Girl though she is, it
is her arm that encircles and protects those who should in other
circumstances have been her guardians, and her brave heart that enables
the word Home to retain its sweetness for those who are dependent on
her.

"Miss Letts has written a story for which elder girls will be grateful,
so simple and winning is it; and we recognize in the author's work a
sense of character and ease of style which ought to ensure its
popularity."--_Globe_.



MABEL QUILLER-COUCH

The Carroll Girls

Illustrated, 5/-.

The father of the Carroll girls fell into misfortune, and had to go to
Canada to make a new start.  But he could not take his girls with him,
and they were left in charge of their cousin Charlotte, in whose
country home they grew up, learning to be patient, industrious, and
sympathetic.  The author has a dainty and pleasant touch, and describes
her characters so lovingly that no girl can read this book without keen
interest in Esther's housekeeping and Penelope's music, Angela's
poultry-farming, and Poppy's dreams of market-gardening.



ANNA CHAPIN RAY

Teddy: Her Daughter

Illustrated in Colour by N. TENISON.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine edges.
3/6.

Many young readers have already made the acquaintance of Teddy in Miss
Anna Chapin Ray's previous story, "Teddy: Her Book." The heroine of the
present story is Teddy's daughter Betty--a young lady with a strong
will and decided opinions of her own.  When she is first introduced to
us she is staying on a holiday at Quantuck, a secluded seaside retreat;
and Miss Ray describes the various members of this small summer
community with considerable humour.  Among others is Mrs. Van Hicks, a
lady of great possessions, but little culture, who seeks to put people
under a lasting obligation to her by making friends with them.  On
hearing that a nephew of this estimable lady is about to arrive at
Quantuck, Betty makes up her mind beforehand to dislike him.  At first
she almost succeeds, for, like herself, Percival has a temper, and can
be "thorny" at times.  As they come lo know each other better, however,
a less tempestuous state of things ensues, and eventually they cement a
friendship that is destined to carry them far.



Nathalie's Sister

Illustrated in Colour by N. TENISON.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine edges.
3/6.

Nobody knows--or cares--much about Nathalie's Sister at the opening of
this story.  She is, indeed, merely Nathalie's Sister, without a name
of her own, shining with a borrowed light.  Before the end is reached,
however, her many good qualities have received the recognition they
deserve, and she is Margaret Arterburn, enjoying the respect and
admiration of all her friends.  Her temper is none of the best: she has
a way of going direct to the point in conversation, and her words have
sometimes an unpleasant sting; yet when the time comes, she reveals
that she is not lacking in the qualities of gentleness and affection,
not to say heroism, which many young readers have already learned to
associate with her sister Nathalie.



Nathalie's Chum

Illustrated in Colour by DUDLEY TENNANT.  Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
olivine edges.  3/6.

This story deals with a chapter in the career of the Arterburn family,
and particularly of Nathalie, a vivacious, strong-willed girl of
fifteen.  After the death of their parents the children were scattered
among different relatives, and the story describes the efforts of the
eldest son, Harry, to bring them together again.  At first there is a
good deal of aloofness, owing to the fact that, having been kept apart
for so long, the children are practically strangers to each other; but
at length Harry takes his sister Nathalie into his confidence and makes
her his ally in the management of their small household, while she
finds in him the chum of whom she has long felt the need.

"Another of those pleasant stories of American life which Miss Anna
Chapin Ray knows so well how to write."--_Birmingham Post_.



Teddy: Her Book

A Story of Sweet Sixteen.

Illustrated in Colour, by ROBERT HOPE.  Crown 8vo, decorated cloth
cover, olivine edges.  3/6.

"Teddy is a delightful personage; and the story of her friendships, her
ambitions, and her successes is thoroughly engrossing."--_World_.

"To read of Teddy is to love her."--_Yorkshire Daily Post_.



Janet: Her Winter in Quebec

Illustrated in Colour by GORDON BROWNE.  Crown 8vo, decorated cloth
cover, olivine edges.  3/6.

"The whole tone of the story is as bright and healthy as the atmosphere
in which these happy months were spent."--_Outlook_.

"The sparkle of a Canadian winter ripples across Anna Chapin Ray's
'Janet.'"--_Lady's Pictorial_.



L. B. WALFORD

A Sage of Sixteen

New Edition.  Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth,
olivine edges.  3/6.

Elma, the heroine of this story, is called a sage by her wealthy and
sophisticated relations in Park Lane, with whom she spends a
half-holiday every week, and who regard her as a very wise young
person.  The rest of her time is passed at a small boarding school,
where, as might be supposed, Elma's friends look upon her rather as an
ordinary healthy girl than as one possessing unusual wisdom.  The story
tells of Elma's humble life at school, her occasional excursions into
fashionable society; the difficulties she experiences in her endeavour
to reconcile the two; and the way in which she eventually wins the
hearts of those around her in both walks of life.



L. T. MEADE

The Beauforts

New Edition.  Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth.
2/6.

This is one of Mrs. Meade's pleasant stories of girl life.  It deals
with the fortunes of a family in straitened circumstances, the father
of which has a gift for poetry that publishers refuse to recognize.  In
spite of his many failures, his daughter Patty does not lose faith in
her father's genius; she supports him in his trials; and eventually
reaps the reward that her constancy has merited.



ANNIE MATHESON

A Day Book for Girls

Containing a quotation for each day of the year, arranged by ANNIE
MATHESON, with Colour Illustrations by C. E. BROCK.

Leather, with special emblematic design in gold, 3/6 net; cloth, 2/6
net.

Miss Annie Matheson is herself well known to many as a writer of hymns
and poetry of a high order.  In "A Day Book for Girls" she has brought
together a large number of extracts both in poetry and prose, and so
arranged them that they furnish an inspiring and ennobling watchword
for each day of the year.  Miss Matheson has spared no pains to secure
variety and comprehensiveness in her selection of quotations; her list
of authors ranges from Marcus Aurelius to Mr. Swinburne, and includes
many who are very little known to the general public.




SOME BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

PUBLISHED BY

HENRY FROWDE and HODDER & STOUGHTON


BOOKS FOR BOYS

By HERBERT STRANG

"_Boys who read Mr. Strang's works have not merely the advantage of
perusing enthralling and wholesome tales, but they are also absorbing
sound and trustworthy information of the men and times about which they
are reading._"--DAILY TELEGRAPH.



Humphrey Bold

Chances and Mischances by Land and Sea.

Illustrated in Colour by W. H. MARGETSON.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges, 6s.

In this story are recounted the many adventures that befell Mr.
Humphrey Bold of Shrewsbury, from the time when, a puny slip of a boy,
he was befriended by Joe Punchard, the cooper's apprentice (who nearly
shook the life out of his tormentor, Cyrus Vetch, by rolling him down
the Wyle Cop in a barrel), to the day when, grown into a sturdy young
giant, he sailed into Plymouth Sound as first lieutenant of the Bristol
frigate.  The intervening chapters teem with exciting incidents,
telling of sea-fights with that redoubtable privateer Duguay Trouin; of
Humphrey's escape from a French prison; of his voyage to the West
Indies and all the perils he encountered there; together with an
account of the active service he saw under that grim old English
seaman, Admiral Benbow.

_Glasgow Herald_.--"So felicitous is he in imparting local colour to
his narrative that whilst reading it we have found ourselves thinking
of Thackeray.  This suggests a standard by which very few writers of
boys' books will bear being judged.  The majority of them are content
to provide their young friends with mere reading.  Herbert Strang
offers them literature."



Rob the Ranger

A Story of the Fight for Canada.

Illustrated in Colour by W. H. MARGETSON, and three Maps.  Crown 8vo,
cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s.

Rob Somers, son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with
Lone Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which has
destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother.  He is captured
and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother in strange
circumstances, and escapes with him in the dead of the winter, in
company with a little band of stout-hearted New Englanders.  They are
pursued over snow and ice, and in a log hut beside Lake Champlain
maintain a desperate struggle against a larger force of French,
Indians, and half-breeds, ultimately reaching Fort Edward in safety.

_Glasgow Herald_.--"If there had ever been the least doubt as to Mr.
Herbert Strang's pre-eminence as a writer of boys' books, it would be
very effectually banished by this latest work of his."



One of Clive's Heroes:

A Story of the Fight for India.

With Illustrations by W. RAINEY, R.I., and Maps.  Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, olivine edges, 6s.

Desmond Burke goes out to India to seek his fortune, and is sold by a
false friend of his, one Marmaduke Diggle, to the famous Pirate of
Gheria.  But he escapes, runs away with one of the Pirate's own
vessels, and meets Colonel Clive, whom he assists to capture the
Pirate's stronghold.  His subsequent adventures on the other side of
India--how he saves a valuable cargo of his friend, Mr. Merriman,
assists Clive in his fights against Sirajuddaula, and rescues Mr.
Merriman's wife and daughter from the clutches of Diggle--are told with
great spirit and humour.  Mr. Strang lived for several years in India,
and tells a great deal about the country, the natives, and their ways
of life which he saw with his own eyes.

_Athenaeum_.--"An absorbing story....  The narrative not only thrills,
but also weaves skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of
our fierce struggle for India."



Samba

A Story of the Congo.

Illustrated by W. RAINEY, R.I.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine
edges, 5s.

The first work of fiction in which the cause of the hapless Congo
native is championed.

_Standard_.--"It was an excellent idea on the part of Mr. Herbert
Strang to write a story about the treatment of the natives in the Congo
Free State....  Mr. Strang has a big following among English boys, and
anything he chooses to write is sure to receive their appreciative
attention."

_Journal of Education_.--"We are glad that a writer who has already won
for himself a reputation for good and vigorous work should have taken
up the cause of the rubber slaves of the Congo."

_Scotsman_.--"Mr. Herbert Strang has written not a few admirable books
for boys, but none likely to make a more profound impression than his
new story of this year."



The Red Book for Boys.

Edited by HERBERT STRANG.

A miscellany for Boys, containing a large variety of complete stories
and articles by well-known writers; episodes and narratives of
adventure; poems, etc.

288 pages, with 12 Plates in Colour, and many Illustrations in black
and white.  Picture boards, cloth back, 2s. 6d.

_Some of the Contents._

  TRAPPED.  By G. A. HENTY.
  THE PUNISHMENT OF KHIPIL.  By GEORGE MEREDITH.
  A MODERN ODYSSEUS.  By L. QUILLER-COUCH.
  FOREST ADVENTURES.  By HERBERT STRANG.
  HIS FATHER'S HONOUR.  By Captain GILSON.
  THE HIGHWAYMAN.  By ALFRED NOYES.
  OCEAN LINERS, PAST AND PRESENT.  By FRANK H. MASON.



Barclay of the Guides:

A Story of the Indian Mutiny.

Illustrated in Colour by H. W. KOEKKOEK.  With Maps.  Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, olivine edges, 5s.

Of all our Native Indian regiments the Guides have probably the most
glorious traditions.  They were among the few who remained true to
their salt during the trying days of the great Mutiny, vying in
gallantry and devotion with our best British regiments.  The story
tells how James Barclay, after a strange career in Afghanistan, becomes
associated with this famous regiment, and though young in years, bears
a man's part in the great march to Delhi, the capture of the royal
city, and the suppression of the Mutiny.



With Drake On the Spanish Main

Illustrated in Colour by ARCHIBALD WEBB.  With Maps.  Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, olivine edges, 5s.

A rousing story of adventure by sea and land.  The hero, Dennis
Hazelrig, is cast ashore on an island in the Spanish Main, the sole
survivor of a band of adventurers from Plymouth.  He lives for some
time with no companion but a spider monkey, but by a series of
remarkable incidents he gathers about him a numerous band of escaped
slaves and prisoners, English, French and native; captures a Spanish
fort; fights a Spanish galleon; meets Francis Drake, and accompanies
him in his famous adventures on the Isthmus of Panama; and finally
reaches England the possessor of much treasure.  The author has, as
usual, devoted much pains to characterisation, and every boy will
delight in Amos Turnpenny, Tom Copstone, and other bold men of Devon,
and in Mirandola, the monkey.

_School Guardian_.--"Another of Mr. Herbert Strang's masterful stories
of adventure and romance."



Swift and Sure

The Story of a Hydroplane.

Illustrated in Colour Crown 8vo, cloth.  2s. 6d.

What the aeroplane is to the air the hydroplane promises to be to the
sea.  This story is a companion volume to "King of the Air" and "Lord
of the Seas," a forecast of what may be expected from the progress of
mechanical invention in the near future.



Lord of the Seas

A Story of a Submarine.

Illustrated in Colour Crown 8vo, cloth extra.  2s. 6d.

The present day is witnessing a simultaneous attack by scientific
investigation on the problems of aerial and submarine locomotion.  In
his book "King of the Air" Mr. Strang gave us a romance of modern
aeronautics.  In "Lord of the Seas" we have a companion volume dealing
with the marvels of submarine navigation.



King of the Air

or, To Morocco on an Airship.

Illustrated in Colour by W. E. WEBSTER.  Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.

In this story (Mr. Herbert Strang's second half-crown book) the young
hero, having a strong turn for mechanical invention, contrives a
machine that represents a great advance on what has previously been
accomplished in the direction of aerial navigation.  He has nearly
perfected his invention when a British diplomatist is captured by
tribesmen in Morocco, and his assistance is invoked in order to rescue
the captive without negotiations that may involve international
difficulties.  The story tells of the exciting and amusing adventures
that befell him and his companions in their perilous mission.

_Morning Leader_.--"One of the best boys' stories we have ever read."



Jack Hardy:

or, A Hundred Years Ago.

Illustrated by W. RAINEY, R.I.  Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.

The old smuggling days!  What visions are called up by the name--of
stratagems, and caves, and secret passages, and ding-dong fights
between sturdy seamen and dashing King's officers!  It is in these
brave days of old that Mr. Herbert Strang has laid the scenes of his
story "Jack Hardy." Jack is a bold young middy who, in the course of
his duty to the King, falls into all manner of difficulties and
dangers: has unpleasant experiences in a French prison, escapes by
sheer daring and ingenuity, and turns the tables on his captors in a
way that will make every British boy's heart glow.

_Athenaeum_.--"Herbert Strang is second to-none in graphic power and
veracity....  Here is the best of characterisation in bold outline."




_HERBERT STRANG'S HISTORICAL SERIES_

This new series is quite unique.  Its aim is to encourage a taste for
history in boys and girls up to fourteen years of age by giving all the
important events and movements of a reign or period intermingled with a
rousing story of adventure.  While the stories are worth reading for
their own sakes, they are also worth reading--especially on the eve of
an examination--by a boy or girl who in class or in school text-book
has worked up the "dry history" of the period.  Each volume contains,
besides the story, a general summary, a chronological list of important
events, and a map.  Much care has been devoted to the "get-up" of these
books.  They contain about 160 pages each, with four beautiful
illustrations in full colour.  Cloth, 1s. 6d. each.

In the New Forest: A Story of the Reign of William the Conqueror.

Lion Heart: A Story of the Reign of Richard I.

Claud the Archer: A Story of the Reign of Henry V.

One of Rupert's Horse: A Story of the Reign of Charles I.

With the Black Prince: A Story of the Reign of Edward III.

A Mariner of England: A Story of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.

With Marlborough to Malplaquet: A Story of the Reign of Queen Anne.

_Practical Teacher_.--"These Stories, which are bright and stirring,
are sufficiently simple to be within the grasp of the children, the
descriptions of life and manners are accurate, and the history of the
period is interwoven in a skilful manner."




By CAPTAIN CHARLES GILSON

The Lost Empire

A Tale of Many Lands.

Illustrated in Colour by CYRUS CUNEO.  With Map.  Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, olivine edges, 6s.

To found a great Empire in the East was one of the designs of Napoleon
Bonaparte, and he might possibly have carried it out, had not certain
events happened, which are related in this story.  Amongst these were
the Battle of the Nile, and the discovery of Napoleon's plans of
campaign, in each of which incidents the hero, Mr. Thomas Nunn,
Midshipman, was concerned.  He was captured and taken to Paris, and it
was here that the plans of campaign fell into his hands; what he did
with them forms the material of an exciting story.

_Daily News_.--"It is a magnificent story, with not an error of phrase
or thought in it....  This book is not only relatively good, but
absolutely so."



The Lost Column

A Story of the Boxer Rebellion.

Illustrated in Colour by CYRUS CUNEO.  With Map.  Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, olivine edges, 6s.

At the outbreak of the great Boxer Rebellion in China, Gerald Wood, the
hero of this story, was living with his mother and brother at Milton
Towers, just outside Tientsin.  When the storm broke and Tientsin was
cut off from the rest of the world, the occupants of Milton Towers made
a gallant defence, but were compelled by force of numbers to retire
into the town.  Then Gerald determined to go in quest of the relief
column under Admiral Seymour.  He carried his life in his hands, and on
more than one occasion came within an ace of losing it; but he managed
to reach his goal in safety, and was warmly commended by the Admiral on
his achievement.  The author has found opportunity in this record of
stirring events for some excellent characterisation, and, among others,
the matter-of-fact James, Mr. Wang, and Mr. Midshipman Tite will be
found diverting in the extreme.

_Outlook_.--"An excellent piece of craftsmanship."

_Ladies' Field_.--"All the sketches of Chinese character are excellent,
and we read the book with delight from the first page to the last."




By WILLIAM J. MARX

For the Admiral.

Illustrated.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 6s.

The brave Huguenot Admiral Coligny is one of the heroes of French
history.  Edmond le Blanc, the son of a Huguenot gentleman, undertakes
to convey a secret letter of warning to Coligny, and the adventures he
meets with on the way lead to his accepting service in the Huguenot
army.  He shares in the hard fighting that took place in the
neighbourhood of La Rochelle, does excellent work in scouting for the
Admiral, and is everywhere that danger calls.  The story won the £100
prize offered by the Bookman for the best story for boys.

_Academy_.--"It is much the best book of its kind sent in for review
this season, and stands head and shoulders above its rivals."




By DESMOND COKE

The School Across the Road

Illustrated in Colour by H. M. BROCK.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges, 5s.

The incidents of this story arise out of the uniting of two
schools--"Warner's" and "Corunna"--under the name of "Winton," a name
which the head master fondly hopes will become known far and wide as a
great seat of learning.  Unfortunately for the head master's ambition,
however, the two sets of boys--hitherto rivals and enemies, now
schoolfellows--do not take kindly to one another.  Warner's men of
might are discredited in the new school; Henderson, lately head boy,
finds himself a mere nobody; while the inoffensive Dove is exalted and
made prefect.  The feud drags on until the rival factions have an
opportunity of uniting against a common enemy.  Then, in the enthusiasm
aroused by the overthrow of a neighbouring agricultural college, the
bitterness between themselves dies away, and the future of Winton is
assured.

_Sheffield Daily Telegraph_.--"Its literary style is above the average
and the various characters are thoroughly well drawn."



The Bending of a Twig

Illustrated in Colour by H. M. BROCK.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges, 5s.

When "The Bending of a Twig" was first published it was hailed by
competent critics as the finest school story that had appeared since
"Tom Brown." Then, however, it was purely a story about boys; now Mr.
Coke has enlarged and partly rewritten it, and made it more attractive
to schoolboy readers.  It is a vivid picture of life in a modern public
school.  The hero, Lycidas Marsh, enters Shrewsbury without having
previously been to a preparatory school, drawing his ideas of school
life from his fertile imagination and a number of school stories he has
read.  Needless to say, he experiences a rude awakening on commencing
his new career, for the life differs vastly from what he had been led
to expect.  How Lycidas finds his true level in this new world and
worthily maintains the Salopian tradition is the theme of this
entrancing book.

_Outlook_.--"Mr. Desmond Coke has given us one of the best accounts of
public school life that we possess....  Among books of its kind 'The
Bending of a Twig' deserves to become a classic."



The House Prefect

By DESMOND COKE, author of "The Bending of a Twig," etc.  Illustrated
in Colour by H. M. BROCK.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s.

This story of the life at Sefton, a great English public school, mainly
revolves around the trouble in which Bob Manders, new-made house
prefect, finds himself, owing to a former alliance with the two wild
spirits whom, in the interests of the house, it is now his chief task
to suppress.  In particular does the spirited exploit with which it
opens--the whitewashing by night of a town statue and the smashing of
certain school property--raise itself against him, next term, when he
has been set in authority.  His two former friends persist in still
regarding him as an ally, bound to them by their common secret; and, in
a sense, he is attracted to their enterprises, for in becoming prefect
he does not cease to be a boy.  It is a great duel this, fought in the
studies, the dormitories and upon the field.

_World_.--"Quite one of the books of the season.  Mr. Desmond Coke has
proved himself a master."




By A. C. CURTIS

The Voyage of the "Sesame"

A Story of the Arctic.

Illustrated in Colour by W. HERBERT HOLLOWAY.  Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, olivine edges, 5s.

The three Trevelyan brothers receive from a dying sailor a rough chart
indicating the whereabouts of a rich gold-bearing region in the Arctic.
They forthwith build a craft, specially adapted to work in the Polar
Seas, and set out in quest of the gold.  They do not have things all
their own way, however, for a rival party of treasure seekers have got
wind of the old sailor's El Dorado, and are also on the trail.  In the
race and fighting that ensue, the brothers come off victorious; and
after a voyage fraught with many dangers, the Sesame returns home with
the gold on board.

_Educational News_.--"The building of the stout ship Sesame at Dundee
is one of the best things of the kind we have read for many a day."



The Good Sword Belgarde

or, How De Burgh held Dover

Coloured Illustrations by W. H. C. GROOME.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges, 5s.

This is the story of Arnold Gyffard and John Wottos, pages to Sir
Philip Daubeney, in the days when Prince Lewis the Lion invaded England
and strove to win it from King John.  It tells of their journey to
Dover through a country swarming with foreign troops, and of many
desperate fights by the way.  In one of these Arnold wins from a French
knight the good sword Belgarde, which he uses to such good purpose as
to make his name feared.  Then follows the great siege of Dover, full
of exciting incident, when by his gallant defence Hubert de Burgh keeps
the key to England out of the Frenchman's grasp.

_Birmingham Post_.--"Evidently Mr. Curtis is a force to be reckoned
with.  He writes blithely of gallant deeds; he does not make his heroes
preposterously wise or formidable; he has a sense of humour; in fine,
he has produced a book of sterling quality."




By GEORGE SURREY

A Northumbrian in Arms

A Story of the Time of Hereward the Wake.

Illustrated in Colour by J. FINNEMORE.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine
edges, 5s.

Garald Ulfsson, companion of Hereward the Wake and conqueror of the
Wessex Champion in a great wrestling bout, is outlawed by the influence
of a Norman knight, whose enmity he has aroused, and gees north to
serve under Earl Siward of Northumbria in the war against Macbeth, the
Scottish usurper.  He assists in defeating an attack by a band of
coast-raiders, takes their ship, and discovering that his father has
been slain and his land seized by his enemy, follows him into Wales.
He fights with Griffith the Welsh King, kills his enemy in a desperate
conflict amidst the hills, and, gaining the friendship of Harold, Earl
of Wessex, his outlawry is removed and his lands restored to him.

_School Guardian_.--"With this story the author has placed himself in
the front rank of writers of boys' books."




By FRANK H. MASON

The Book of British Ships

Written and Illustrated by FRANK H. MASON, R.B.A.  Crown 8vo, cloth,
olivine edges, 5s.

The aim of this book is to present, in a form that will readily appeal
to boys, a comprehensive account of British shipping, both naval and
mercantile, and to trace its development from the earliest times down
to the Dreadnoughts and high-speed ocean liners of to-day.  All kinds
of British ships, from the battleship to the trawler, are dealt with,
and the characteristic points of each type of vessel are explained.

_British Weekly_.--"Mr. Mason has given us one of the best histories of
English ships that exist.  It is admirably written and full of
information."




By Rev. J. R. HOWDEN

Locomotives of the World

Containing 16 Plates in Color, 5s. net.

Many of the most up-to-date types of locomotives used on railways
throughout the world are illustrated and described in this volume.  The
coloured plates have been made from actual photographs, and show the
peculiar features of some truly remarkable engines.  These
peculiarities are fully explained in the text, written by the Rev. J.
R. Howden, author of "The Boy's Book of Locomotives," etc.

_Daily Graphic_.--"An absolutely safe investment for every boy who
loves an engine."

_Nation_.--"The large coloured pictures of the world's engines are just
the things in which the young enthusiast delights."




THE ROMANCE SERIES

Crown 8vo, illustrated, 5s. each.


By EDWARD FRASER

The Romance of the King's Navy

"The Romance of the King's Navy" is intended to give boys of to-day an
idea of some of the notable events that have happened under the White
Ensign within the past few years.  There is no other book of the kind
in existence.  It begins with incidents afloat during the Crimean War,
when their grandfathers were boys themselves, and brings the story down
to a year ago, with the startling adventure at Spithead of Submarine
84.  One chapter tells the exciting story of "How the Navy's V.C.'s
have been won," the deeds of the various heroes being brought all
together here in one connected narrative for the first time.

_Westminster Gazette_.--"Mr. Fraser knows his facts well, and has set
them out in an extremely interesting and attractive way."



By A. B. TUCKER

The Romance of the King's Army

A companion volume to "The Romance of the King's Navy," telling again
in glowing language the most inspiring incidents in the glorious
history of our land forces.  The charge of the 21st Lancers at
Omdurman, the capture of the Dargai heights, the saving of the guns at
Maiwand, are a few of the great stories of heroism and devotion that
appear in this stirring volume.




By LILIAN QUILLER-COUCH

The Romance of Every Day

Here is a bookful of romance and heroism; true stories of men, women,
and children in early centuries and modern times who took the
opportunities which came into their everyday lives and found themselves
heroes; civilians who, without beat of drum or smoke of battle, without
special training or words of encouragement, performed deeds worthy to
be written in letters of gold.

_Bristol Daily Mercury_.--"These stories are bound to encourage and
inspire young readers to perform heroic actions."




By E. E. SPEIGHT and R. MORTON NANCE

The Romance of the Merchant Venturers

Britain's Sea Story.

These two books are full of true tales as exciting as any to be found
in the story books, and at every few pages there is a fine
illustration, in colour or black and white, of one of the stirring
incidents described in the text.




BOOKS FOR GIRLS

By CHRISTINA GOWANS WHYTE



The Five Macleods

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt
edges, 6s.



Nina's Career

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt
edges, 6s.

The modern Louisa Alcott!  That is the title that critics in England
and America have bestowed on Miss Christina Gowans Whyte, whose
"Story-Book Girls" they declare to be the best girls' story since
"Little Women." Mrs. E. Nesbit, author of "The Would-be Goods," in
likening Miss Whyte to Louisa Alcott, wrote: "This is high praise--but
not too high."  "Nina's Career" tells delightfully of a large family of
girls and boys, children of Sir Christopher Howard, the famous surgeon.
Friends of the Howards are Nina Wentworth, who lives with three aunts,
and Gertrude Mannering.  Gertrude, because she is the daughter of the
Mrs. Mannering and grand-daughter of a peer, is conscious of always
missing in her life that which makes the lives of the Howards so joyous
and full.  They may have "careers"; she must go to Court and through
the wearying treadmill of the rich girls.  The Howards get engaged,
marry, go into hospitals, study in art schools; and in the end Gertrude
also achieves happiness.

_Outlook_.--"We have been so badly in need of writers for girls who
shall be in sympathy with the modern standard of intelligence, that we
are grateful for the advent of Miss Whyte, who has not inaptly been
described as the new Miss Alcott."



The Story-Book Girls

By CHRISTINA GOWANS WHYTE.

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Cloth elegant, 6s.

This story won the £100 prize in the Bookman competition.

The Leightons are a charming family.  There is Mabel, the beauty, her
nature strength and sweetness mingled; and Jean, the downright, blunt,
uncompromising; and Elma, the sympathetic, who champions everybody, and
has a weakness for long words.  And there is Cuthbert, too, the clever
brother.  Cuthbert is responsible for a good deal, for he saves
Adelaide Maud from an accident, and brings the Story-Book Girls into
the story.  Every girl who reads this book will become acquainted with
some of the realest, truest, best people in recent fiction.




By WINIFRED M. LETTS

The Quest of the Blue Rose

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine
edges, 5s.

After the death of her mother, Sylvia Sherwood has to make her own way
in the world as a telegraph clerk.  The world she finds herself in is a
girls' hostel in a big northern city.  For a while she can only see the
uncongenial side of her surroundings; but when she has made a friend
and found herself a niche, she begins to realise that though the Blue
Rose may not be for her finding, there are still wild roses in every
hedge.  In the end, however, Sylvia, contented at last with her
hard-working, humdrum life, finds herself the successful writer of a
book of children's poems.

_Daily News_.--"It is a successful effort in realism, a book of live
human beings that beyond its momentary interest, which is undoubted,
will leave a lasting and valuable impression."




By ELSIE J. OXENHAM

Mistress Nanciebel

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine
edges, 5s.

This is a story of the Restoration.  Nanciebel's father, Sir John
Seymour, had so incurred the displeasure of King Charles by his
persistent opposition to the threatened war against the Dutch, that he
was sent out of the country.  Nothing would dissuade Nanciebel from
accompanying him, so they sailed away together and were duly landed on
a desolate shore, which they afterwards discovered to be a part of
Wales.  Here, by perseverance and much hard toil, John o' Peace made a
new home for his family, in which enterprise he owed not a little to
the presence and constant help of Nanciebel, who is the embodiment of
youthful optimism and womanly tenderness.




By E. EVERETT-GREEN

Our Great Undertaking

Illustrated.  5s.

Miss Evelyn Everett-Green is one of the first favourites with girls and
boys.  This is how she tells about the beginning of "Our Great
Undertaking." The children have been asking granny for a story:--"Well,
my dears, I will see what I can do.  You shall come to me at this time
to-morrow night, and I will tell you the story of how, when I was a
little girl, we children undertook what seemed to many people at the
outset a labour of Hercules, and how we learned from it a number of
lessons, which have lasted us through life."  The grandmother smiles as
the happy children troop off to bed, and in these pages Miss
Everett-Green tells us the delightful story that grandmother told next
day.




By M. QUILLER-COUCH

The Carroll Girls

Illustrated.  5s.

The father of the Carroll girls fell into misfortune, and had to go to
Canada to make a new start.  But he could not take his girls with him,
and they were left in charge of their cousin Charlotte, in whose
country home they grew up, learning to be patient, industrious, and
sympathetic.  The author has a dainty and pleasant touch, and describes
her characters so lovingly that no girl can read this book without keen
interest in Esther's housekeeping and Penelope's music, Angela's
poultry-farming, and Poppy's dreams of market gardening.




By E. L. HAVERFIELD

Audrey's Awakening

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine
edges, 3s. 6d.

As a result of a luxurious and conventional upbringing, Audrey is a
girl without ambitions, unsympathetic, and with a reputation for
exclusiveness.  Therefore, when Paul Forbes becomes her stepbrother,
and brings his free-and-easy notions into the Davidsons' old home,
there begins to be trouble.  Audrey discovers that she has feelings,
and the results are not altogether pleasant.  She takes a dislike to
Paul at the outset; and the young people have to get through deep
waters and some exciting times before things come right.  Audrey's
awakening is thorough, if painful.

_Glasgow Herald_.--"Very pleasantly written and thoroughly healthy."



The Conquest of Claudia.

Illustrated in Colour by JAMES DURDEN.  Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,
olivine edges, 3s. 6d.

Meta and Claudia Austin are two motherless girls with a much-occupied
father.  Their upbringing has therefore been left to a kindly
governess, whose departure to be married makes the first change in the
girls' lives.  Having set their hearts upon going to school, they
receive a new governess resentfully.  Claudia is a person of instincts,
and it does not take her long to discover that there is something
mysterious about Miss Strongitharm.  A clue upon which the children
stumble leads to the notion that Miss Strongitharm is a Nihilist in
hiding.  That in spite of various strange happenings they are quite
wrong is to be expected, but there is a genuine mystery about Miss
Strongitharm which leads to some unforeseen adventures.

_School Guardian_.--"A fascinating story of girl life."



Dauntless Patty

Illustrated in Colour by DUDLEY TENNANT.  Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
olivine edges, 3s. 6d.

The joys and sorrows, friendships and disappointments--all the trifles,
in fact, which make the sum of schoolgirl life--are faithfully
delineated in this story.  Patricia Garnett, an Australian girl, comes
over to England to complete her education.  She is unconventional and
quite unused to English ways, and it is not long before she finds
herself the most unpopular girl in the school.  Several times she
reveals her courage and high spirit, particularly in saving the life of
Kathleen Lane, a girl with whom she is on very bad terms.  All
overtures of peace fail, however, for Patty feels that the other girls
have no real liking for her and she refuses to be patronised.  Thus,
chiefly owing to misunderstanding and careless gossip, the feud is
continued to the end of the term; and the climax of the story is
reached when, in a cave in the face of a cliff, in imminent danger of
being drowned, Patty and Kathleen for the first time understand each
other, and lay the foundations of a lifelong friendship.

_Schoolmaster_.--"A thoroughly faithful and stimulating story of
schoolgirl life."

_Glasgow Herald_.--"The story is well told.  Some of the incidents are
dramatic, without being unnatural; the interest is well sustained, and
altogether the book is one of the best we have read."




By ANNA CHAPIN RAY

Nathalie's Sister.

Illustrated in Colour by N. TENISON.  Crown 8vo, cloth, olivine edges,
3s. 6d.

Nobody knows--or cares--much about Nathalie's Sister at the opening of
this story.  She is, indeed, merely Nathalie's Sister, without a name
of her own, shining with a borrowed light.  Before the end is reached,
however, her many good qualities have received the recognition they
deserve, and she is Margaret Arterburn, enjoying the respect and
admiration of all her friends.  Her temper is none of the best: she has
a way of going direct to the point in conversation, and her words have
sometimes an unpleasant sting; yet when the time comes, she reveals
that she is not lacking in the qualities of gentleness and affection,
not to say heroism, which many young readers have already learned to
associate with her sister Nathalie.

_Record_.--"'Nathalie's Sister' is written in Miss Ray's best style and
has all those bright breezy touches which characterise her work."



Nathalie's Chum.

Illustrated in Colour by DUDLEY TENNANT.  Crown 8vo; cloth extra,
olivine edges, 3s. 6d.

By her stories, "Teddy" and "Janet," Miss Anna Chapin Ray has already
made English readers familiar with many of the distinctive features of
boy and girl life in America.  The present story, which is cast in the
same mould, deals with a chapter in the career of the Arterburn family,
and particularly of Nathalie, a vivacious, strong-willed girl of
fifteen.  After the death of their parents the children were scattered
among different relatives, and the story describes the efforts of the
eldest son, Harry, to bring them together again.  At first there is a
good deal of aloofness owing to the fact that, having been kept apart
for so long, the children are practically strangers to each other; but
at length Harry takes his sister Nathalie into his confidence and makes
her his ally in the management of their small household, while she
finds in him the chum of whom she has long felt the need.



Teddy: Her Book

A Story of Sweet Sixteen.

Illustrated in Colour by ROBERT HOPE.  Crown 8vo, decorated cloth
cover, olivine edges, 3s. 6d.

_World_.--"Teddy is a delightful personage; and the story of her
friendships, her ambitions, and her successes is thoroughly engrossing."

_Yorkshire Daily Post_.--"To read of Teddy is to love her."



Janet: Her ... Winter in Quebec

Illustrated in Colour by GORDON BROWNE.  Crown 8vo, decorated cloth
cover, olivine edges, 3s. 6d.

_Outlook_.--"The whole tone of the story is as bright and healthy as
the atmosphere in which these happy months were spent."

_Lady's Pictorial_.--"The sparkle of a Canadian winter ripples across
Anna Chapin Ray's 'Janet.'"




BOOKS FOR CHILDREN

By LUCAS MALET

Little Peter

A Christmas Morality for Children of any Age.

New Edition.  Illustrated in Colour by CHARLES E. BROCK.  Crown 8vo,
cloth elegant, gilt edges, 6s.

This delightful little story introduces to us a family dwelling upon
the outskirts of a vast and mysterious pine forest in France.  These
are Master Lepage, who, as head of the household and a veteran of the
wars, lays down the law upon all sorts of questions, domestic and
political; his meek, sweet-faced wife Susan; their two sons Anthony and
Paul; and Cincinnatus the cat--who holds as many opinions and expresses
them as freely as Master Lepage himself; and--little Peter.  Little
Peter makes friends with John Paqualin, a queer, tall, crook-backed old
charcoal-burner, whom the boys of the village call "the grasshopper
man," and whom every one else treats with contempt; but this is not
surprising, since Little Peter makes friends with every one he meets,
and all who read about him will certainly make friends with him.




By CHRISTINA GOWANS WHYTE

The Adventures of Merrywink

Illustrated by M. V. WHEELHOUSE.

Crown 4to, cloth elegant, 6s.

This story won the £100 prize for the best children's story in the
Bookman competition.  It tells of a pretty little child who was born
into Fairyland with a gleaming star in his forehead.  When his parents
beheld this star they were filled with gladness and fear, and in the
night they carried their little Fairy baby, Merrywink, far away and hid
him.  Why was it necessary to carry Merrywink away so secretly?
Because of two old prophecies: the first, that a daughter should be
born to the King and Queen of Fairyland; the second that the King
should rule over Fairyland until a child appeared with a gleaming star
in his forehead.  Now, on the very day that Merrywink was born, the
long-promised little Princess arrived at the Royal Palace; and the
King, who was determined to keep his throne to himself, sent round
messages to make sure that the child with the gleaming star had not yet
been seen in Fairyland.  The story tells us how Merrywink grew up to be
brave and strong, and fearless and truthful; how he set out on his
travels and met the Princess at court; and all that happened afterwards.




By E. M. JAMESON

The Pendleton Twins

Crown 8vo, olivine edges, Coloured Illustrations, 5s.

A great number of little readers now look forward eagerly to the
appearance of further volumes telling of the adventures and
misadventures of the Pendletons.  This year the family's Christmas
holidays furnish material for another bright and amusing story.  Their
adventures begin the very day they leave home.  The train is snowed up
and they are many hours delayed.  They have a merry Christmas with
plenty of fun and presents, and in the middle of the night Bob gives
chase to a burglar.  Nora, who is very sure-footed, goes off by herself
one day and climbs the cliffs, thinking that no one will be any the
wiser until her return.  But the twins and Dan follow her unseen and
are lost in a cave, where they find hidden treasure left by smugglers
buried in the ground.  Len sprains his ankle and they cannot return.
Search parties set out from Cliffe, and spend many hours before the
twins are found by Nora, cold and tired and frightened.  But the
holidays end very happily after all.



Peggy Pendleton's Plan

Illustrated.  5s.



The Pendletons

Illustrated.  5s.

Two further stories dealing with the fortunes of the entertaining
Pendleton family.

_Schoolmaster_.--"Young people will revel in this most interesting and
original story.  The five young Pendletons are much as other children
in a large family, varied in their ideas, quaint in their tastes, and
wont to get into mischief at every turn.  They are withal devoted to
one another and to their home, and although often 'naughty,' are not by
any means 'bad.' The interest in the doings of these youngsters is
remarkably well sustained, and each chapter seems better than the last.
With not a single dull page from start to finish and with twelve
charming illustrations, the book makes an ideal reward for either boys
or girls."




By AMY LE FEUVRE

Robin's Heritage

Illustrated by GORDON BROWNE.  2s.

Robin, the little hero of Miss Amy Le Feuvre's latest book, is a
charming creation.  He is certainly one of the most lovable of the boy
and girl characters in her books, whose adventures have given delight
to so many thousands of little readers.



Christina and the Boys

Illustrated.  2s.

This is a splendid story for boys and girls.  All who have read Miss Le
Feuvre's other books will want to read this.  It is a story of three
children; one from England, another from Scotland, the third from
Wales.  They are all so jolly that it is difficult to say which of the
three will be the favourite with young readers.



Roses

Illustrated.  2s.

This story introduces us to Mrs. Fitzherbert, a dear little old lady
with snow-white hair, as she moves among the sweet scents and sounds of
her rose garden.  She lives in a quaint old-fashioned house with
casement windows and deep window seats, old oak staircase and panelled
rooms.  And into the midst of this secluded scene comes Dimple--her
real name is Isabella, but she will not allow anybody to call her by
that name on any account--whose father, owing to ill-fortune, has had
to go abroad.  How Dimple wins the hearts of all in her new home is
told by Miss Le Feuvre in this little book.



His Big Opportunity

Illustrated.  2s.

The two principal characters in this book are Roy and Dudley--two
cousins.  Both are anxious to become heroes, and they are constantly on
the look-out for an opportunity to do some good.  This leads them, one
day, to pay a friendly visit to a sick man.  They cannot get in by the
door, so they clamber in by the window, greatly to the alarm of the
invalid, who takes them for house-breakers.  The story tells how, when
their big opportunity does arrive, they are able to seize it and turn
it to account.



Brownie

Illustrated.  2s.



A Cherry Tree

Illustrated.  2s.



Two Tramps

Illustrated.  2s.



The Buried Ring

Illustrated.  2s.



The New Line upon Line.

Revised Edition of "Line upon Line" (containing Parts I and II of the
original work), edited by J. E. HODDER WILLIAMS, with a Preface by the
BISHOP OF DURHAM.  Illustrated in Colour.  Leather, 2s. 6d. net; cloth,
1s. 6d. net; picture boards, 1s. net.



The New Peep of Day

Revised Edition of "The Peep of Day," edited by J. E. HODDER WILLIAMS,
with a Preface by the BISHOP OF DURHAM.  Illustrated in Colour.
Leather, 2s. 6d. net; cloth, 1s. 6d. net; picture boards, 1s. net.

These new editions of two well-known children's books retain all the
features that made the previous issues so popular, but they have been
thoroughly revised with a view to making them more easily understood by
the children of to-day.




THE CHILDREN'S BOOKCASE

Edited by E. NESBIT

"The Children's Bookcase" is a new series of dainty illustrated books
for little folks which is intended ultimately to include all that is
best in children's literature, whether old or new.  The series is
edited by Mrs. E. Nesbit, author of "The Would-be Goods" and many other
well-known books for children; and particular care is given to binding,
get-up, and illustrations.  The pictures are in full colour.

The Little Duke.  By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.

Sonny Sahib.  By SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN (Mrs. EVERARD COTES).

The Water Babies.  By CHARLES KINGSLEY.

The Old Nursery Stories, By E. NESBITT.

Cap-o'-Yellow.  By AGNES GROZIER HERBERTSON.

Granny's Wonderful Chair.  By FRANCES BROWNE.

The volumes in "The Children's Bookcase" are issued in three styles of
binding: in paper boards, at 1s. 6d. net; cloth, 2s. 6d. net; and art
cloth with photogravure panel, 3s. 6d. net.

_Scotsman_.--"In point of artistic beauty and general excellence, these
volumes, costing only 1s. 6d. each, are a marvellous production."