ll she's rotted up, sorr?"

"Ah well now, Barnay," said St. George grimly, "you couldn't have an
easier career."

Little Cawthorne, from leaning on the rail staring out at the
island, suddenly pulled himself up and addressed St. George.

"Here we are," he complained, "here has been me coming through the
watery deep all the way from Broadway, with an octopus clinging to
each arm and a dolphin on my back, and you don't even ask how I
stood the trip. And do you realize that it's sheer madness for the
five of us to land on that island together?"

"What do you mean?" asked St. George.

The little man shook his grey curls.

"What if it's as Barnay says?" he put it. "What if they should bag
us all--who'll take back the glad news to the harbour? Lord, you
can't tell what you're about walking into. You don't even know the
specific gravity of the island," he suggested earnestly. "How do
you know but your own weight will flatten you out the minute you
step ashore?"

St. George laughed. "He thinks he is reading the fiction page," he
observed indulgently. "Still, I fancy there is good sense on the
page, for once. We don't know anything about anything. I suppose we
really ought not to put all five eggs in one basket. But, by Jove--"

He looked over at Amory with troubled eyes.

"As host of this picnic," he said, "I dare say I ought to stay
aboard and let you fellows--but I'm hanged if I will."

Little Cawthorne reflected, frowning; and you could as well have
expected a bird to frown as Little Cawthorne. It was rather the name
of his expression than a description of it.

"Suppose," he said, "that Bennietod and I sit rocking here in this
bay--if it is a bay--while you two rest your chins on the top of
that ledge of rock up there, and look over. And about to-morrow or
day after we two will venture up behind you, or you could send one
of the men back--"

"My thunder," said Bennietod wistfully, "ain't I goin' to get to
climb in de pantry window at de palace--nor fire out of a
loophole--"

"Bennietod an' I couldn't talk to a prince anyway," said Little
Cawthorne; "we'd get our language twisted something dizzy, and
probably tell him 'yes, ma'am.'"

St. George's eyes softened as he looked at the little man. He knew
well enough what it cost him to make the suggestion, which the good
sense of them all must approve. Not only did Little Cawthorne always
sacrifice himself, which is merely good breeding, but he made
opportuniti