“But a goat has no wool, papa.”

  “What are Cashmere shawls made of, William?”

  “Very true, papa.”

  “Most animals have a certain increase of covering as they recede further from the warm climates to the cold ones. Wolves and foxes, hares and rabbits, change the colour of their skins to white when they get far north. The little English stoat, which is destroyed by the gamekeepers, becomes the beautiful snow-white ermine in Russia and other cold countries.”

  “Well, papa, I think it a great advantage to man, and a proof of the Almighty’s care of him and kindness to him, in permitting all the animals most useful to him to be able to live in any country; but I don’t know whether I am wrong in saying so, papa: I cannot see why an animal like the wolf should not have been kept to his own climate, like the lion and tiger, and other ferocious animals.”

  “You have started a question, William, which I am glad you have done, rather than it should have remained on your mind, and have puzzled you. It is true that the shepherd might agree with you, that the wolf is a nuisance; equally true that the husbandman may exclaim, What is the good of thistles, and the various weeds which choke the soil? But, my dear boy, if they are not, which I think they are, for the benefit of man, at all events they are his doom for the first transgression. ‘Cursed is the ground for thy sake — thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to thee — and by the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread,’ was the Almighty’s sentence; and it is only by labour that the husbandman can obtain his crops, and by watchfulness that the shepherd can guard his flocks. Labour is in itself a benefit: without exercise there would be no health, and without health there would be no enjoyment.”

  “I see now, papa. You have mentioned the animals which can live in all climates; will you not tell us something about other animals?”

  “There is but one remark to make, William, which is, that animals indigenous to, that is, originally to be found in, any one portion of the globe, invariably are so fashioned as to be most fit for that country, and have the food also most proper for them growing or to be obtained in that country. Take, for instance, the camel, an animal fashioned expressly for the country to which he is indigenous, and without whose aid all communication must have been stopped between Asia and Africa. He is called the ‘Ship of the Desert;’ for the desert is a ‘sea of sand.’ His feet are so fashioned that he can traverse the sands with facility; he can live upon the coarsest vegetable food and salt plants which are found there, and he has the capacity of carrying water in a sort of secondary stomach, for his own supply where no water is to be found. Here is an animal wonderfully made by the Almighty for an express locality, and for the convenience of man in that country; for, in England, or elsewhere, he would be of no value. But it is late, my dear William; so we will first thank Him for all his mercies, and then to bed.”

  Chapter Fifty Seven.

  The next morning was one of bustle; there was packing up and every preparation for departure. Juno was called here and called there, and was obliged to ask little Caroline to look after the kettle and call to her if it boiled over. Master Tommy, as usual, was in every one’s way, and doing more harm than good in his attempts to assist.

  At last, Ready, to get rid of him, sent him down with a large bundle to the beach. Tommy shouldered it with great importance, but when he came back, looking rather warm with the exertion, and Ready asked him to take down another, he said he was too tired, and sat down very quietly till breakfast-time, before which everything was ready.

  Mrs Seagrave and Juno packed up the breakfast and dinner things in a basket after breakfast was over, and then Mr and Mrs Seagrave and the family set off on their journey, accompanied by the dogs, through the cocoa-nut grove.

  William and Ready lost no time in getting through their work; the crockery, kitchen utensils, table, and chairs, were the first articles put into the boat. The goat was then led down, and they set off with a full load, and arrived at the bay long before the party who were walking through the wood. They landed the things on the beach, and then shoved off again to bring round the bedding, which was all that was left. By three o’clock in the afternoon they had arrived at the bay with their second and last load, and found that the other party had been there about an hour, and Mr Seagrave and Juno were very busy taking the articles up from the beach.

  “Well, William,” said Ready, “this is our last trip for some time, I expect; and so much the better, for our little boat must have something done to her as soon as I can find time.”

  “Yes, indeed, Ready, she has done her work well. Do you know I feel as if I were coming home, now that we are back to the bay. I really feel quite glad that we have left the tents. I found the pigeons among the peas, Ready, so we must pick them as soon as we can. I think there were near twenty of them. We shall have pigeon pies next year, I expect.”

  “If it pleases God that we live and do well,” replied Ready, who had his eyes fixed upon the sea.

  Before night everything was in its place again in the house, and as comfortable as before, and as they were very tired, they went very early to bed, having first arranged what they should do in the morning. At daylight Ready and William went down to the turtle-pond and speared a turtle, for now the time was coming on for turning the turtle again, and the pond would soon be filled. Having cut it up and put a portion of it into the pot, all ready for Mrs Seagrave, as soon as breakfast was over they proceeded to the storehouse.

  After a little consultation with Mr Seagrave, Ready marked out a square of cocoa-nut trees surrounding the storehouse, so as to leave a space within them of about twenty yards each side, which they considered large enough for the inclosure. These cocoa-nut trees were to serve as the posts between which were to be fixed other cocoa-nut trees cut down, and about fourteen feet high, so as to form a palisade or stockade, which could not be climbed over, and would protect them from any attack of the savages.

  As soon as the line of trees had been marked out, they set to work cutting down all the trees within the line, and then outside to a distance of ten yards, so as to give them room for their work. Ready cut out cross-pieces, to nail from tree to tree, and now they found the advantage of having saved so many of the large spike nails, without which they never could have made so good or so quick a job of it. Mr Seagrave cut down trees, William and Juno sawed them off at a proper length with one of the cross-cut saws, and then carried them to Ready. They soon had more cut out than he could use, and then they dragged away the tops and branches, and piled them at a distance on the ground, to use as winter fuel, while Mr Seagrave helped Ready in fixing up the palisades. They worked very hard that day, and were not sorry to go to bed. Ready, however, took an opportunity to speak to William.

  “I think,” said he, “that now we are here again, it will be necessary to keep a sort of night-watch, in case of accident. I shall not go to bed till it is quite dark, which it will be by nine o’clock, and shall have my glass to examine the offing the last thing. You see, there is little fear of the savages coming here in the night-time, but they may just before night or very early in the morning, so one of us must be up again before daybreak, that is between two and three o’clock in the morning, to see if there is anything to be seen of them; if there is not, of course we may go to bed again, as they cannot arrive till many hours afterwards; and we must watch the wind and weather, if it is favourable for them to come to us, which, indeed, the wind will not be except at the commencement of the rainy season but it may be very light, and then they would not care for its being against them. I’ve been thinking of it, William, a great deal, and my idea is, that it will be at the beginning of the rainy season that we shall have a visit, if we have one at all; for you see that the wind don’t blow regular from one quarter, as it does now, but is variable, and then they can make sail in their canoes, and come here easily, instead of pulling between thirty and forty miles, which is hard work against wind and current. Still, we must not be careless and we must keep a good look-out even now. I don’t want to fret your father and Mrs Seagrave with my fears on the subject, but I tell you what I really think, and what we ought to do.”

  “I agree with you, Ready, and I will take care to be up before daybreak, and examine very carefully with the spy-glass as soon as the day dawns. You take the night part, and I will do the morning part of the watching.”

  Chapter Fifty Eight.

  For nearly a fortnight, the work upon the stockade continued without any intermission, when a circumstance occurred which created the greatest alarm and excitement. One day, as the party returned to dinner, Mrs Seagrave said with surprise, “Why, was not Tommy with you?”

  “No,” replied Mr Seagrave; “he has not been near us all day; he went with us after breakfast, but did not remain a quarter of an hour.”

  “No, Missy; I tell Massa Tommy to help carry cocoa-nut leaves, and then he go away directly.”

  “Goodness! where can he be?” exclaimed Mrs Seagrave, alarmed.

  “I dare say he is picking up shells on the beach, ma’am,” replied Ready, “or perhaps he is in the garden. I will go and see.”

  “I see him — oh, mercy! — I see him,” said Juno, pointing with her finger; “he in the boat, and boat go to sea!”

  It was but too true: there was Tommy in the boat, and the boat had drifted from the beach, and was now a cable’s length away from it, among the breakers.

  William ran off like the wind, followed close by Mr Seagrave and Ready, and at a distance by Mrs Seagrave and Juno; indeed, there was no time to be lost, for the wind was off the shore, and in a short time the boat would have been out to sea.

  William, as soon as he arrived at the beach, threw off his hat and jacket and dashed into the water. He was already up to his middle, when old Ready, who had followed him, caught him by the arm and said:

  “William, go back immediately. I insist upon it. Your going can do no good, as you do not understand the thing so well as I do; and go I will, so there will be double risk for nothing. Mr Seagrave, order him back. He will obey you. I insist upon it, sir.”

  “William,” said Mr Seagrave, “come back immediately, I command you.”

  William obeyed, but before he was clear of the water Ready had swam across to the first rocks on the reef, and was now dashing through the pools between the rocks, towards the boat.

  “Oh, father!” said William, “if that good old man is lost, I shall never forgive myself. Look, father, one — two — three sharks, here, close to us. He has no chance. See, he is again in deep water. God protect him!”

  In the meantime, Mr Seagrave, whose wife was now by his side, after glancing his eye a moment at the sharks, which were within a few feet of the beach, had kept his gaze steadily upon Ready’s movements. If he passed through the passage of deep water between the rocks he might be considered safe, as the boat was now beating on a reef on the other side, where the water was shallow. It was a moment of intense anxiety. At last Ready had gained the reef, and had his hands upon the rocks, and was climbing on them.

  “He is safe, is he not?” whispered Mrs Seagrave faintly.

  “Yes; now I think he is,” replied Mr Seagrave, as Ready had gained a footing on the rocks, where the water was but a little above his ankles. “I think there is no deep water between him and the boat.”

  In another minute Ready was over the rocks, and had seized the gunnel of the boat.

  “He is in the boat,” cried William. “Thank God!”

  “Yes, we must thank God, and that fervently,” replied Mr Seagrave. “Look at those monsters,” continued he, pointing to the sharks; “how quick they swim to and fro; they have scented their prey on the water. It is fortunate they are here.”

  “See, he has the boat-hook, and is pushing the boat off the reef into the deep water. Oh! he is quite safe now.”

  Such, however, was not the case. The boat had been beating on the rocks of the reef, and had knocked a hole in her bottom, and as soon as Ready had forced the boat into deep water, she began to fill immediately. Ready pushed as hard as he could with the boat-hook, and tearing off his neck-cloth, forced as much as he could of it into the hole. This saved them; but the boat was up to the thwarts with water, and the least motion on the part of Ready, or even Tommy, would have upset her immediately, and they had still to pass the deep water between the reef and the beach, where the sharks were swimming. Ready, who perceived his danger, called out to them to throw large stones at the sharks as fast as they could, to drive them away. This was immediately done by Mr Seagrave and William, aided by Juno and Mrs Seagrave.

  The pelting of the stones had the desired effect. The sharks swam away, and Ready passed through to the beach, and the boat grounded just as she was up to the gunnel in water, and about to turn over. He handed out Tommy, who was so dreadfully frightened that he could not cry.

  As soon as Ready landed, William sprang into his arms, crying, “Thank God, you are safe, Ready!” Mrs Seagrave, overpowered by her feelings, sank her head upon William’s shoulder, and burst into tears.

  “It was touch and go, William,” observed Ready, as they walked up to the house, preceded by Mr and Mrs Seagrave. “How much mischief may be created by a thoughtless boy! However, one can’t put old heads on young shoulders, and so Tommy must be forgiven.”

  “He has been punished enough, as far as fright goes,” replied William; “I’ll answer for it, he’ll never get into the boat again by himself.”

  “No, I think not. But now, William, you saw how nearly I was swamped in the boat; indeed, it was only by his mercy that I was preserved; but taking the question merely as far as our endeavours could help us, do you think that if you had gained the boat instead of me, you would have brought her to the beach as I did?”

  “No, Ready; I never could have managed her so skilfully as you did, and therefore I must have been swamped before I got on shore.”

  “Well, William, as I am an old sailor and you are not, therefore it is not vanity which makes me say that you could not have managed the boat so well as I did. Now, as I had not three or four seconds to spare, you, as you say, must have been swamped. I mention this to prove to you that I was right in desiring your father to order you back.”

  “Certainly, Ready; but Tommy is my brother, and I felt that it was more my duty than yours to risk my life for him.”

  “A very proper feeling, William; but you have other duties, which are, to look after your father and mother, and be a comfort and solace to them. Your life is more valuable than mine. I am an old man on the brink of the grave, and a year or two makes no difference, but your life is, I hope, of more consequence.”

  That evening the prayers were more than usually solemn, and the thanksgivings more heartfelt and sincere. Exhausted with the exciting scene of the day, they all retired early to bed.

  Chapter Fifty Nine.

  When Tommy was questioned on the following morning as to his inducement to get into the boat, to their great surprise he replied, that he wanted to go round to the tents again, to see if the bananas were ripe; that he intended to eat some of them and be back before dinner-time, that he might not be found out.

  “I suspect, Tommy, you would have been very hungry before you ate any bananas if we had not perceived you,” said Ready.

  “I won’t go into the boat any more,” said Tommy.

  “I rather think you will keep to that resolution, Tommy,” replied Mr Seagrave; “however, I must leave your mother to point out to you the danger you were in yourself, and in which you placed others by your folly.”

  The stockade was now almost finished; the door was the occasion of a good deal of consultation; at last, it was agreed that it would be better to have a door of stout oak plank, but with second door-posts inside, about a foot apart from the door, between which could be inserted short poles one above the other, so as to barricade it within when required. This would make the door as strong as any other portion of the stockade. As soon as this was all complete, the storehouse was to be altered for a dwelling-house, by taking away the wattles of cocoa-nut boughs on the sides, and filling them up with logs of cocoa-nut trees.

  Before the week was ended the stockade and door were complete, and they now began to fell trees, to form the sides of the house. This was rapid work; and while Mr Seagrave, William, and Juno felled the trees, and brought them on the wheels to the side of the stockade, all ready cut to their proper lengths, Ready was employed in flooring the house with a part of the deal planks which they had brought round from the cove. But this week they were obliged to break off for two days, to collect all their crops from the garden.

  A fortnight more passed away in continual hard work, but the house was at last finished, and very complete, compared to the one they were residing in. It was much larger, and divided into three rooms by the deal planking: the middle room which the door opened into was the sitting and eating room, with a window behind; the two side rooms were sleeping-rooms, one for Mrs Seagrave and the children, and the other for the male portion of the family.

  “See, William,” said Ready, when they were alone, “what we have been able to do by means of those deal planks; why, to have floored this house, and run up the partitions, would have taken us half a year if we had had to saw the wood.”

  “Yes; and what a comfort it is to have so many shelves about. When shall we shift into this house?”

  “The sooner the better. We have plenty of work still to do, but we can work outside of the stockade.”

  “And what do you propose to do with the old house?” said William.