dition
was tantalized and held back by the non-arrival of the guard, who were
frenziedly searching for their boots. Why the army was so ruthlessly
condemned to wear boots, is a question that was often asked and never
properly answered. Nobody else wore boots--not even the king; but the
military caste is proverbially dressy, and it is enough to say that the
armed forces of Apiang set immense store by their boots.

At last they arrived, boots and all, a straggling, hobbling party of
seven, with cartridge belts and rifles. Little Daisy was formally put in
their charge; solemn pledges were given and accepted; a keg of beef, to
be subsequently presented, was hedged about with innumerable
restrictions. That keg--like liberty--was to be at the price of eternal
vigilance. And then, when everything had been said, and explained, and
threatened, the whaleboat hoisted her anchor--a coral stone--and set a
straight course for Tarawa.

It was a long day--a very long day--quite the longest day in Daisy's
tiny life. She successively exhausted the magic lantern, the dolly, and
the chair. She went out and prattled with the army where they sprawled
under the lee of the kitchen, smoking endless _pandanus_ cigarettes. She
helped Nantok prepare lunch--a bowl of chocolate made with condensed
milk, and hot buttered toast. After lunch she had a nap with Nantok on
the mats, and after that again an exciting talk about the great massacre
on Tapatuea, where all Nantok's people had been killed during that
Kanaka Saint Bartholomew's. Then out to the army again, and checkers,
which the army played amazingly well, beating her so often that even
this pastime palled. Then----

Oh, what a sigh!

The sleek little seal was aweary, aweary. The house was so empty, so
still, and there was such a void in that aching baby heart! She went
into papa's room and cried on his bed. He would be drowned in the
strait; savage old Karaitch would shoot him with a gun; he would be
blown out to sea like Mr. Pettibone the beach-comber. The hot tears
scalded her cheeks. She had always liked Mr. Pettibone. Papa called him
a proff--proff--proff something, but he had always been so jolly, and
his red face and funny little blue eyes rose before her out of the mist.
She cried over the lost Pettibone; over Tansy the cat, that had died
from eating a lizard; over Nosey, her pet chicken, that Nantok had
killed by mistake one night for supper; cried over papa and mamma, far
away in