captain was always short, and ready to be annoyed at nearly everything
said; so he concluded that Bob Roberts' idea was the best, and he went
straight to Doctor Bolter, who was in his room, in his shirt and
trousers, both his sleeves rolled up, busily pinning out some gorgeous
butterflies that he had secured.

"Ah, Long!" he said, as the youth entered; "how are you? just hand me
that sheet of cork."

"Quite well, sir, thank you."

"Oh! are you? I'll look at your tongue directly. Hand me one of those
long thin pins."

The pin was handed.

"Now put a finger on that piece of card. Gently, my dear boy, gently;
the down upon these things is so exquisitely fine, that the least touch
spoils them. Look at that Atlas moth by your elbow. Isn't it lovely?"

"Magnificent, sir," said Long, taking up a shallow tray, and really
admiring the monstrous moth pinned out therein.

"Ah, my lad! I wish I could see you turning a little attention to
natural history, now we are in this perfect paradise for a collector.
How much better for you than lounging about all day under the trees.
Now then, put out your tongue."

"But I'm quite well, Doctor Bolter."

"Put--out--your--tongue--sir. Confound it all, sir, I've no time to
waste!"

As he spoke he took up the lamp, and held it close to Tom Long's face,
so that the light might fall upon the protruded organ.

"Hah!" ejaculated Doctor Bolter, resuming his seat.

"But I really am quite well, sir," remonstrated Tom Long.

"Don't tell me, sir, that you are quite well. Do you think I don't know
when a man's well, and when he is not? You are just a little wee bit
feverish."

He felt the youth's pulse, and nodded his head sagely.

"Too much idleness and good living is what is the matter with you, sir.
Why don't you collect?"

"How can I, sir," said Tom, "when I'm shut up in this island?"

"Go ashore. Here, I'll give you some collecting boxes, and lend you a
vasculum and a net. Go and get me some butterflies."

"Well, sir, if it's all the same to you," said Tom, taking advantage of
the wind blowing in the right direction, "shooting's more in my way.
Suppose I shot you some birds?"

"Better still," said the doctor, enthusiastically. "Nothing I should
like better. I want a few trogons, and the blue-billed gaper. Then you
might get me the green chatterer, and any new birds you could see."

"Yes, sir."

"And look here, Long; the woods here are the chosen resort of the