and in others the result of rough but
efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have
been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the
centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in
bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have
been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee.

The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great
recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is
a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of
the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks,
containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape,
which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously
tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen;
indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the
effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric.

The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It
is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of
fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the
hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found
the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little
lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the
sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to
Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should
like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight.
There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be
shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens,
and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening.

Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and
dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is
trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that
Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when
they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her,
though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there
as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in
incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be
maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her
skirt, and sometimes lends it on importan