Part 37 (2/2)

”I don't care which. And it is a shame to ask you for either.”

”Go on.”

”I want a looking-gla.s.s.”

”Great Heaven! What for?”

”Oh, never mind; I want one. And some more towels, and some soap, and a few hair-pins; and some elastic bands; and some pen, ink and paper, to write my feelings down in this island for n.o.body ever to see.”

When she began Hazel looked bright, but the list was like a wasp, its sting lay in its tail. However, he put a good face on it. ”I'll try and get you all those things; only give me time. Do you know I am writing a dictionary on a novel method.”

”That means on the sand.”

”No; the work is suspended for the present. But two of the definitions in it are--DIFFICULTIES--things to be subdued; IMPOSSIBILITIES--things to be trampled on.”

”Well, subdue mine. Trample on--a sponge for me.”

”That is just what I was going to do,” said he; opened a clasp-knife and jumped coolly into the river.

Helen screamed faintly, but after all the water was only up to his knees.

He soon cut a large sponge off a piece of slimy rock, and held it up to her. ”There,” said he, ”why, there are a score of them at your very door and you never saw them.”

”Oh, excuse me, I did see them and shuddered; I thought they were reptiles; dormant and biding their time.”

When he was out of the river again, she thought a little, and asked him whether old iron would be of any use to him.

”Oh, certainly,” said he; ”what, do you know of any?”

”I think I saw some one day. I'll go and look for it.”

She took the way of the sh.o.r.e; and he got his cart and spade, and went posthaste to his clay-pit.

He made a quant.i.ty of bricks, and brought them home, and put them to dry in the sun. He also cut great pieces of the turtle, and wrapped them in fresh banana-leaves, and inclosed them in clay. He then tried to make a large narrow-necked vessel, and failed utterly; so he made the clay into a great rude platter like a shallow milk-pan. Then he peeled the sago-log off which he had cut his wheels, and rubbed it with turtle fat, and, using it as a form, produced two clay cylinders. These he set in the sun, with bricks round them to keep them from falling. Leaving all these to dry and set before he baked them, he went off to the marsh for fern-leaves. The soil being so damp, the trees were covered with a brownish-red substance, scarce distinguishable from wool. This he had counted on. But he also found in the same neighborhood a long cypress-haired moss that seemed to him very promising. He made several trips, and raised quite a stack of fern-leaves. By this time the sun had operated on his thinner pottery; so he laid down six of his large thick tiles, and lighted a fire on them with dry banana-leaves, and cocoanut, etc., and such light combustibles, until he had heated and hardened the clay; then he put the ashes on one side, and swept the clay clean; then he put the fire on again, and made it hotter and hotter, till the clay began to redden.

While he was thus occupied, Miss Rolleston came from the jungle radiant, carrying vegetable treasures in her ap.r.o.n. First she produced some golden apples with reddish leaves.

”There,” said she; ”and they smell delicious.”

Hazel eyed them keenly.

”You have not eaten any of them?”

”What! by myself?” said Helen.

”Thank Heaven!” said Hazel, turning pale. ”These are the manchanilla, the poison apple of the Pacific.”

”Poison!” said Helen, alarmed in her turn.

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