Part 7 (1/2)

Barty splashed about splendidly in the clear green water of the swimming pool and before his bath was ended he could swim ever so much better than he had swam the day before. He came out of the sparkling water all rosy and laughing with delight. But when he was putting on his clothes he stopped with a stocking half way on and began to think.

”It is very queer,” he said in a puzzled voice, ”but I keep thinking of something and I don't know what it is I'm thinking about.”

”That's queer,” said the Good Wolf.

”The Desert Island is beautiful, and the cave, and Man Sat.u.r.day, and Blue Crest, and the swimming, but I feel as if I want to tell somebody about it and I don't know who it is. I can't remember.”

”You'll remember in time,” said the Good Wolf, ”if you don't bother about it. I think the eggs must be roasted enough by now.”

They went to see and found them all beautifully done. It was a lovely breakfast. They drank cocoanut milk out of cocoanut sh.e.l.ls, instead of coffee, and the roasted eggs tasted _exactly_ like a picnic.

Man Sat.u.r.day ate a cocoanut and seemed to enjoy it very much. After he had finished he began to walk up and down the beach and to look out at the sea as if he were keeping watch. Barty thought he looked anxious about something.

”What do you think he is looking for?” he asked the Good Wolf. Just at that minute Man Sat.u.r.day stopped walking up and down and stood quite still shading his eyes with his small black paw. The Good Wolf watched him for a few minutes.

”I think,” he said, ”that he must be looking out for s.h.i.+ps.”

”What does he want them for?” said Barty.

”He doesn't want them,” answered the Good Wolf. ”He is afraid of them.”

”Why,” said Barty, ”what sort of s.h.i.+ps?”

”Pirates,” said the Good Wolf.

That made Barty feel just a little uncomfortable.

”Pirates are almost as bad as cannibals, aren't they?” he said.

”Sometimes worse,” said the Good Wolf, ”though of course it depends upon the kind of pirates.”

Man Sat.u.r.day was not looking out from under his hand any more; he was running quickly across the beach to the cliff. When he got there he began to climb up the face of it. Only a monkey could have done it. He caught hold of tiny bushes and twigs and clumps of green things and pulled himself up like lightning. In a few minutes he was as high as the cave and he stood on the ledge and looked out from there, shading his eyes again with his black paw.

”He can see round the point from there,” said the Good Wolf.

”Do you feel at all nervous?” asked Barty.

”I had a good night's sleep and I have had an excellent breakfast,”

the Good Wolf said, ”and I am prepared for almost anything--but Pirates and Cannibals are known to be very disagreeable.”

”But they are adventures, if they don't catch you,” said Barty, cheering himself up.

”They are adventures if they _do_ catch you,” answered the Good Wolf.

”The Best Adventure is finding out how to get away,” said Barty.

”Well, you see a person comes to a desert island for adventures,” said the Good Wolf.

Barty sat and hugged his knees and looked rather serious.