himself, just outside and across the entrance, a couch of cloaks taken from the wreck.

Before settling himself for the night, he returned to the base of the cliff, opened with the hatchet one of his precious boxes of biscuits, and taking a handful, sat on a flat rock to make an unaccustomed supper. He had barely eaten a mouthful when he saw a brown figure leap from somewhere above his head, swoop on the still open box, clutch one of the biscuits, and spring away with a long chatter of delight.

"Ah, knave!" he exclaimed, "my prophetic soul avouched that your gravity cloaked an evil bent. You are a thief, Sir Monkey. But I do not grudge you the biscuit; your constancy in attendance merits some reward. A toothsome morsel, is it not? It pleases me to see your pleasure, and—yes, I have it! You are my sole companion on this island; why should we not be friends? You must learn a rightful humility, to be sure. Regarding me as the dispenser of luxuries, will you not love me, with the respectful love of a dependent? Come, let us see."

Rising from his seat in time to forestall a second application to the biscuit box, he went to it, took half a dozen, shut down the lid, and returned to the rock.

"Now, Mirandola," he said—"I name you Mirandola for your wisdom, not your larceny—here in my hand I hold one of the twice-cooked, the fellow of the one you found so delectable. Come and take it, and give thanks."

But the animal sat motionless on its branch, grinning and gibbering.

"You do me wrong to suspect me," Dennis went on. "Well, this is to prove my good faith."

He flung the biscuit on to the sand a few yards away, and laughed quietly to see what ensued. The monkey chattered volubly with excitement, swung itself to a lower branch, then back to its former perch, where it sat for a moment blinking and grinning. Then it descended with extraordinary rapidity to the foot of the tree, crouched behind the trunk while a man might count ten, and with frantic haste, as though fearful its courage would not endure, it darted on all fours across to the biscuit, looking in its movements like a gigantic spider. Seizing the delicacy, it sped back to the tree, squatted on the lowest branch, and set its jaws right merrily to work.

"That is your first lesson, Mirandola," said Dennis, placing the remaining biscuits in his pouch, in full sight of the animal. "The second begins at once; it enjoineth patience."

And heedless of the loud outcry made by the monkey when it saw these choice comestibles disappear, Dennis returned to his couch, and laid himself down for the night.

CHAPTER IV

Salvage

Rising with the sun, Dennis set about making a more careful examination of the hull of the Maid Marian. The leaks in her timbers were rather more serious than he had supposed. Clearly they would prevent her from drifting out to sea on the tide, but they would also render her final break-up inevitable in the event of a violent storm from the north-west. There were signs on the face of the cliff that at times the waves dashed over the narrow beach of sand against the wall of rock beyond. In these latitudes, as the fate of the Maid Marian proved, storms arose without warning, and with incredible swiftness; and it behoved Dennis to make all speed in saving the ship's stores.

At low tide on this day, and on many that followed, he worked hard at his task. He rigged up a block and pulley in the waist, by means of which he was able to hoist casks and other heavy objects up the hatchways and lower them over the side of the vessel. It was more difficult to convey them from the vessel to a place of safety beyond the reach of the tide. At first he tried to haul them by a rope, but finding soon that he succeeded only in working up a ridge of sand which rendered haulage exhausting and in some cases impossible, he bethought himself of the device of employing rollers, such as he had seen used by fishermen on the beach at home. It was an easy matter, with the tools now at hand, to lop off and strip some straight boughs suited to his purpose, and upon these he brought, slowly and not without pains, the bulkier goods to safe harbourage. The tide always rose about the vessel too soon for his impatience; but the work was arduous, the intervals were really needed for rest, and they gave opportunities of furthering his acquaintance with the monkey.

His relations with Mirandola, indeed, were placed on a sound and satisfactory footing long before he had emptied the hull. The biscuits were invaluable. At intervals, now long, now short, he would throw one towards the monkey, which watched all his doings at the wreck day by day with unfailing regularity. Little by little he diminished the length of his throw, until, on the third day after his first lesson, Mirandola had gained sufficient confidence to approach him to within a few inches. On the fourth day, after keeping the monkey waiting longer than usual, Dennis took a biscuit from his pouch, held it for a moment between his fingers, then put it back again.

"It is time, Mirandola," he said, "that your education was completed. You are, I verily believe, as wise as a serpent; will you not believe that I am harmless as a dove? This is the same biscuit I stowed but now in my pouch; it is for you; it is yours if you will take it mannerly. No, I will not cast it on the sand; it is more seemly to take it from my hand, and, I do assure you, it will be no less relishable. Come, then, dear wiseacre; have I ever deceived you? Show a little confidence in your true friend and well-wisher."

He held forth the biscuit, with an alluring smile. Mirandola cocked his head on one side, gazed at this dispenser of delectable things with a searching solemnity, and then crawled forward with watchful eye, dubiously halting more than once. At length he came to Dennis's feet, and sat up, with so gravely sad an expression that Dennis found it hard not to laugh. Then, thrusting up his long arm, he made a grab at the biscuit.

"Not so, Mirandola," said Dennis, holding it beyond the monkey's reach. "Manners maketh man; assuredly they will not mar monkeys. Ape the gentle philosopher your namesake; be courteous and discreet. Now, once more."

He lowered the biscuit slowly, keeping his eyes on the creature's face. But with a suddenness that took him aback, Mirandola raised himself on his hind legs, flung out an arm, and, before Dennis could withdraw it, held the biscuit in his skinny paw.

"Wellaway!" laughed Dennis. "I may keep my breath to cool my porridge, for all the effect my words have upon your savage nature."

Then, to his surprise, the monkey came to him again, and held out his hand.

"You shall not be disappointed," he said. "Not for the world would I reject your advances. Here is a biscuit, and with this, shall we say, our friendship is sealed."

And it was not long before Mirandola would sit upon his knee, and take food from his hand with all mannerliness; and, its distrust gone, showed itself to be as affectionate and devoted as a dog.

Dennis availed himself in other ways of the hours when the tide interrupted his labour with the stores. There was no lack of planking and tarpaulin in the vessel; these he utilized in building on the ledge, and near a fresh spring that ran out of the cliff, a little hut about two trees that grew near enough together to form uprights for his roof. Then he erected two small sheds close by, wherein to shelter his goods from the weather. At first he fumbled with the unfamiliar tools, not omitting to pinch his fingers as he hammered in the nails. But he soon acquired a certain dexterity, and was indeed mightily pleased with his handiwork.

Every now and again he made a trip across the island, to discover whether any vessels were in sight. Once or twice he descried a sail on the horizon; once, indeed, he felt some excitement and anxiety as he saw a bark under full sail bearing straight, as