pray out of this same island if you'll be
pleased to bring 'em along. Weigh anchor, my man," says he, "and we'll
pipe down to dinner."

Well, the old man laughed at his manner of putting it, and, without
further ado, we all went down to the bird's nest in the hollow,
and there we lighted a fire in the shelter of the pit, and old
Clair-de-Lune going away in search of rations, he returned presently
with victuals enough to feed a missionary, and more than that, as
pretty a trio to serve them as any seaman could hope for. For what
should happen but that the three young girls we'd seen yesterday in
the woods came romping up the hill together; and one bringing a great
can for the coffee, and another a basket of luscious fruit, and a
third some new-made bread and biscuit--they ran down the ladder to us
and began to talk in their pretty language, and now and then in
English which did not need much understanding.

"I am Rosamunda," says one.

And the second, she says:

"I am Sylvia--Sylvia--Sylvia."

And the third, she chimes in with:

"I am Celestine, and I have brought you bread."

And they all stood together, shy and natural, looking now at one, now
at another of us; but most often, I thought, at little Dolly Venn, who
had a way of making them understand which an older man might have
envied.

"And wonderful pretty names, too, young ladies, though a seaman doesn't
often hear the likes of 'em," cries Peter Bligh, gallant enough, as all
Irishmen are. "They're all Pollies in our parts, and it do come easier
to the tongue and more convenient if you know many of 'em. Whereby did
you hitch up names like those?" asks he; "which, askin' your pardon,
seem to me to be took out of a picture-book."

They giggled at this; but old Clair-de-Lune, who was mighty proud of
them, and justly, answered Peter Bligh as though the question were
serious.

"Monsieur, in my own country I am artiste; I play the drama, the
comedy, the tragedy. Clair-de-Lune they call me at the theatre. To the
daughters of my master I give the artiste's name--why not? Better the
good name than the bad name! It was long year ago, shipmate; the Belle
Ile was wrecked on these reef; the maitre is drowned, but I and the
young ladies are save. We come, we go, none interfere. The Governor is
angry, we hide in the hill; the Governor laugh, we go down to the
valley. When the sleep-time comes, we go to the house under the sea:
you shall find him a dangerous time, but w