him strange. He had no time to deal with trifles like these.
The dinghy had to be fetched across the lagoon, and there was only one
way of fetching it. So he came back down the beach to the water's edge,
cast down his boots, cast off his coat, and plunged in. The lagoon was
wide, but in his present state of mind he would have swum the
Hellespont. His figure gone from the beach, the night resumed its
majesty and aspect of meditation.

So lit was the lagoon by starshine that the head of the swimmer could
be distinguished away out in the midst of circles of light; also, as
the head neared the reef, a dark triangle that came shearing through
water past the palm tree at the pier. It was the night patrol of the
lagoon, who had heard in some mysterious manner that a drunken
sailor-man was making trouble in his waters.

Looking, one listened, hand on heart, for the scream of the arrested
one, yet it did not come. The swimmer, scrambling on to the reef in an
exhausted manner, forgetful evidently of the object for which he had
returned, made for the rum cask, and fell down beside it as though
sleep had touched him instead of death.

CHAPTER XX

THE DREAMER ON THE REEF

"I wonder where Paddy is?" cried Dick next morning. He was coming out
of the chapparel, pulling a dead branch after him. "He's left his coat
on the sand, and the tinder box in it, so I'll make the fire. There's
no use waiting. I want my breakfast. Bother!"

He trod the dead stick with his naked feet, breaking it into pieces.

Emmeline sat on the sand and watched him.

Emmeline had two gods of a sort: Paddy Button and Dick. Paddy was
almost an esoteric god wrapped in the fumes of tobacco and mystery. The
god of rolling ships and creaking masts--the masts and vast sail spaces
of the Northumberland were an enduring vision in her mind--the deity
who had lifted her from a little boat into this marvellous place, where
the birds were coloured and the fish were painted, where life was never
dull, and the skies scarcely ever grey.

Dick, the other deity, was a much more understandable personage, but no
less admirable, as a companion and protector. In the two years and five
months of island life he had grown nearly three inches. He was as
strong as a boy of twelve, and could scull the boat almost as well as
Paddy himself, and light a fire. Indeed, during the last few months Mr
Button, engaged in resting his bones, and contemplating rum as an
abstract idea,