read books," he thought to
himself.

There at the desk sat the librarian, silent, preoccupied. In the
reading room were a few scattered readers intent on newspapers and
magazines. The place, familiar and pleasant enough to Pee-wee at other
times, seemed alien and uninviting at a time of day when he was usually
too busy to call upon its quiet resources of treasure.

On this balmy holiday it seemed almost like school; it had a booky,
studious atmosphere which turned him against it. And to complete this
impression and make the place abhorrent to him there sat Miss Bunting,
the history teacher, in a corner of the reference room with several
books spread about her. To Pee-wee on Saturday morning this seemed
nothing less than an insult.

He approached a shelf near the librarian's desk above which was a sign
that read BOOKS ESPECIALLY RECOMMENDED. Here were always a few old
time favorites, worth while books made readily available. From these
Pee-wee half-heartedly drew out a copy of Treasure Island and took it
to a table. He knew his Treasure Island. In a disgruntled mood he
sank far down in his chair and opened the book at random. He was too
familiar with the enthralling pages of the famous story to seek solace
in it now, but there was nothing else to do and he was too out of sorts
to search further. Presently he was idly skimming over the page before
him.

The appearance of the island when I came on deck next morning was
altogether changed. Although the breeze had now utterly failed, we had
made a great deal of way during the night, and were now lying becalmed
about half a mile to the southeast of the low eastern coast.
Gray-colored woods covered a large part of the surface. This even tint
was indeed broken up by streaks of yellow sandbreak in the lower lands,
and by many tall trees of the pine family, out-topping the others--some
singly, some in clumps; but the general coloring was uniform and sad.
The hills ran up . . .

Pee-wee blinked his eyes, yawned, then suddenly drew himself up into an
erect sitting posture and pushed the book from him. "Gee whiz," he
mused, "that's what I'd like, to go off to a desert island. They don't
have any desert islands now; that's one thing I don't like about this
century. Hikes and camping and all that make me tired; I'd like to be
on a desert island, that's what _I'd_ like to do. I'd like to be
marooned. Gee whiz, we only kid ourselves trying to make ourselves