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The Girl Crusoes, by Mrs. Herbert Strang

Title: The Girl Crusoes

A Story of the South Seas Author: Mrs. Herbert Strang Illustrator: N. Tenison

Release Date: November 1, 2011 [EBook #37903] Language: English

*** THE GIRL CRUSOES ***

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"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

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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

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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 coun-tryside 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,

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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, spo-ken 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 stationmaster 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 lead-

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ing 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, com-ing 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 un-dertaken 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.

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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 postoffice 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 stationmaster, 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 hav-ing 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

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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 white-

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washing 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 35deg South, longitude

152deg 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.

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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."

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"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."

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"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 Bed-ford 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 matinee 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

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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.

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"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

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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 clump-ing boots. It was Dan Whiddon, pale, grimy, with tear-stained eyes, fast asleep.

"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 Sam-

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son 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."

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"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 crest-fallen 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 naviga-tors, 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.

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"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."

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"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 companionway, 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.

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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.

19

"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

20

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.

"THE THREE TOGETHER DRAGGED THE BOAT UP THE BEACH."

CHAPTER VI

THE ISLAND BEAUTIFUL

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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?"

22

"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 jack-knives, 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.

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"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 fireplace. 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 fireplace. 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."

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"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.

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"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."

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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."

27

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.