sand beneath the awning, kicking up
his little legs, watching the small gulls as they skimmed across the
basin, or, with his brown curly head resting on the doctor's knees,
slept sweetly. Happy and contented he was, too, with the return of
health and strength; and if his budding memory looked back to her he had
lost, and the recollection of his faithful Banou, it was only for a
moment, and, like a childish dream, it passed away.

[Illustration: BUILDING THE BOAT.]

Every evening at sunset, when the work was done for the day, the doctor,
with Henri in his arms and the musket on his shoulder, would climb the
crag, and peer all around the island; but never a sail did he see from
the hour the "Centipede" spread her canvas, while he lay helplessly
bound on the trestle with the green noose around his neck. As the
twilight faded, the sole human occupants of the island returned to the
chapel, and when they had said a simple prayer, kneeling before the
Virgin, they laid themselves down on their canvas bed to rest till the
dawn. Many a silent hour in the watches of the tedious night did the
doctor lie awake, while the cool sweet breath of the child fanned his
cheek as he lay nestling beside him, pondering and wondering on the fate
of his charge. He knew absolutely nothing about his history save that he
had been pitched overboard from the brig the pirates were robbing; but
what was the name or nation of the vessel, where from, or whither bound,
he was in utter ignorance. He had questioned the leader Gibbs on that
occasion after the chase by the corvette, when he had lopped off the
brute's leg; but, what with suffering and drink, the ruffian had either
forgotten the brig's name, or feigned to, and all he could impart was
the belief that she was an English trader. Even from the boy, too, the
doctor could elicit nothing of importance, though day by day he tried
every means of leading the child's mind back to the past, but always
with the same result.

"_Oui, ma chere mama! Bon Banou!_" and "_Ma petite cousine, Rosalie!_"
These were the only words the little fellow had to link his fate with
the future, and even they became fainter and fainter on his mind and
tongue as the time passed on. With this delicate web around the destiny
of the child, and that he spoke French, and had evidently been tenderly
nurtured, the doctor was forced to be content.

Well, so the days and nights went by, and so the work went on, and the
little ark beg