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Rather dolefully the provisions were packed up and deposited in a ledge in the rocks, while the party proceeded to wander about the island in search of board and lodging. The charms of Long Stork Island had fallen off greatly in the short interval, and the sea-fog, which was beginning to wrap it round and hide the mainland from view, seemed like a wet blanket both on the spirits and persons of the adventurers.

After much dreary search a hollow was found on the hill-side, which by fastening together three or four ulsters might be roofed over sufficiently well to keep out the rain or cold if required. As to food, the island provided absolutely nothing except the chance of raw poultry already mentioned and a few shell-fish on the rocks.

The day wore on, and the fog turned to drizzle and the drizzle to rain. They held out against it as long as they could, but had to take shelter at last, and herd together in their extemporised cabin.

Here a painful discussion ensued, “I hope you’re satisfied now!” growled Wallas. “This is mess enough to please even you, Bowler.”

“What do you mean?” retorted Gayford; “a lot you’ve done for the public good. There are plenty of seagulls about without you to croak, too.”

“I wish my umbwellah hadn’t gone out to sea,” observed Braintree, shivering.

“By the way,” said Crashford, “didn’t I see it lying on the rocks. I’ll just run and see,” and off he started.

“When shall we ever get away?” asked Wester. “We may get starved here.”

“They’re sure to see us or find us out in a day or two,” said Bowler.

“A day or two!” exclaimed Wallas; “do you really mean we’ve got to stay here without food or shelter a day or two? I wish your New Swishford was in the middle of the sea.”

“So it is,” dryly observed Bowler.

“Fine fools you’ve made of us with your humbug and child’s play,” growled the other.

“You don’t want much making,” retorted Bowler; “and if you want to talk any more, you can talk to some one else.”

Wallas accepted the invitation, and growled all round till everybody was sick of him.

After a long absence Crashford returned without the umbrella.

“I couldn’t find it,” said he, sitting down. “It’s gone.”

“But you found the peaches, you blackguard!” said Bowler, springing up and pointing to some juicy remains still clinging to the delinquent’s coat. And in his righteous indignation he dealt the traitor a blow which sent him out of the tent.

A fight ensued there and then between Bowler and Crashford, unhappily, to the disadvantage of the former, who was no match for the practised hand opposed to him. The company interposed after a few rounds, and none too soon for the damaged though still lion-hearted Bowler.

Crashford profited nothing by his victory, for it was decided unanimously to exclude him from the tent till he chose to apologise for his treachery; and meanwhile the remains of the slender provisions were taken into safe custody out of his reach.

The day wore on, and the rain fell heavier and heavier upon the ulster- roof over their heads. The wind whistled drearily above them, and the mainland was entirely lost to sight. As far as they were concerned they might be in the real New Swishford, a thousand miles from the nearest land.

They huddled together silently, no one caring much to speak. Only Braintree broke the monotony by shivering audibly, and the footsteps of Crashford, as he paced up and down outside to keep warm, added a dreary variety to the silence.

The afternoon drew on, and at last Bowler said–

“Better let the beggar in.”

“Hadn’t we better all turn out and see what’s to be done?” said Gayford. “We shall only come to grief here. The grub won’t hold out for another meal, and then it’ll be something more than a joke.”