G.

Time flew by with rapid wing, and the infant colony prospered in many
ways, though not in all.

One day John Adams took down his gun from the pegs on which it rested
above the door of his hut. Saying to his wife that he was going to
shoot a few cats and bring home a pig for supper, he sallied forth, and
took the footpath that led to one of the darkest recesses of the lonely
island.

Lest the reader should imagine that Adams was a cruel man, we must
explain that, several years having elapsed since the landing of the
mutineers on Pitcairn, the cats had by that time multiplied excessively,
and instead of killing the rats, which was their duty, had taken to
hunting and devouring the chickens. For this crime the race of cats was
condemned to death, and the sentence was put in force whenever
opportunity offered.

Fortunately, the poultry had also multiplied quickly, and the hogs had
increased to such a degree that many of them had been allowed to take to
a wild life in the woods, where they were hunted and shot when required
for food. Sporting, however, was not often practised, because the
gunpowder which had been saved from the _Bounty_ had by this time
sensibly diminished. Strange to say, it did not seem to occur to any of
the men that the bow and arrow might become of use when guns became
useless. Probably they looked upon such weapons with contempt, for they
only made little bows, as playthings for the children, with harmless,
blunt-headed arrows.

On turning from the clearing into the bush, Adams came on a sight which
amused him not a little. In an open place, partially screened from the
sun by the graceful leaves of palms and bananas, through which was
obtained a glimpse of the sea, Otaheitan Sally was busily engaged in
playing at "school." Seated on the end of a felled tree was Thursday
October Christian, who had become, as Isaac Martin expressed it, a great
lout of a boy for his age.

Thursday was at the head of the class, not in virtue of his superior
knowledge, but his size. He was a strong-made fellow, with a bright,
intelligent, good-humoured face, like that of his father. Next to him
sat little Matt Quintal, rather heavy and stupid in expression, but
quiet and peaceable in temperament, like his mother. Next came Daniel
McCoy, whose sharp sparkling countenance seemed the very embodiment of
mischief, in which quality he resembled his father. Fortunately for
little Dan, his mother was the gent