ere deep hollows
formed in the sand, I now noticed for the first time, basin-shaped and
of various depths and sizes, varying from that of a teacup to a large
bowl. The wind, no doubt, was responsible for these miniature craters,
just as it was for lifting the paddle and tossing it towards the water.
The rent in the canoe was the only thing that seemed quite inexplicable;
and, after all, it _was_ conceivable that a sharp point had caught it
when we landed. The examination I made of the shore did not assist this
theory, but all the same I clung to it with that diminishing portion of
my intelligence which I called my "reason." An explanation of some kind
was an absolute necessity, just as some working explanation of the
universe is necessary--however absurd--to the happiness of every
individual who seeks to do his duty in the world and face the problems
of life. The simile seemed to me at the time an exact parallel.

I at once set the pitch melting, and presently the Swede joined me at
the work, though under the best conditions in the world the canoe could
not be safe for traveling till the following day. I drew his attention
casually to the hollows in the sand.

"Yes," he said, "I know. They're all over the island. But _you_ can
explain them, no doubt!"

"Wind, of course," I answered without hesitation. "Have you never
watched those little whirlwinds in the street that twist and twirl
everything into a circle? This sand's loose enough to yield, that's
all."

He made no reply, and we worked on in silence for a bit. I watched him
surreptitiously all the time, and I had an idea he was watching me. He
seemed, too, to be always listening attentively to something I could not
hear, or perhaps for something that he expected to hear, for he kept
turning about and staring into the bushes, and up into the sky, and out
across the water where it was visible through the openings among the
willows. Sometimes he even put his hand to his ear and held it there for
several minutes. He said nothing to me, however, about it, and I asked
no questions. And meanwhile, as he mended that torn canoe with the skill
and address of a red Indian, I was glad to notice his absorption in the
work, for there was a vague dread in my heart that he would speak of the
changed aspect of the willows. And, if he had noticed _that_, my
imagination could no longer be held a sufficient explanation of it.

At length, after a long pause, he began to talk.

"Que