You'll have to spread your blanket on the soft side of a pine board. If you want something real luxurious you can go into the woods and cut an armful of spruce boughs to strew under you."

Percy disregarded this badinage. From his view-point the situation was too serious for jesting. It was outrageous that he, the son of John P. Whittington, should be expected to shift for himself like an ordinary fisherman.

"I'm not used to living in a pigpen!" he snapped. "This cabin's too dark to be healthy; besides, it isn't clean."

A spark of temper flashed in Spurling's eyes.

"Stop right there, Whittington! This is my uncle Tom's cabin. Any place that's been shut up for weeks seems stuffy when it's first opened. You'll find that there are things a good deal worse than salt and tar and fish and a few cobwebs. I want to tell you a story I read some time ago. Once in the winter a party of Highlanders were out on a foray. Night overtook them beside a river in the mountains, and they prepared to camp in the open. Each drenched his plaid in the stream, rolled it round his body, and lay down to rest in the snow, knowing that the outside layers of cloth would soon freeze hard and form a sleeping-bag. In the party were an old chieftain and his grandson of eighteen. The boy wet his plaid like the others, but before he lay down he rolled up a snowball for a pillow. The old chief kicked it out from under the lad's head. He didn't propose to have his grandson be so effeminate as to indulge himself in the luxury of a pillow when everybody else was lying flat on the ground."

Whittington grunted. "I don't see how that applies to me."

"In this way. You've lived too soft. You need something to wake you up to the real hardships that men have to go through. Then you won't be so fussy over little things. Perhaps I've talked plainer to you than I should; but I believe in going after a fellow with a club before his face rather than a knife behind his back. Now let's open those windows so the fresh air can blow through, build a fire in the stove to dry out the damp, and get everything shipshape. After supper we'll go up on top of the island and take a look about."

It was nearly seven when the sloop was finally unloaded and everything stowed under cover. Filippo had collected plenty of driftwood, and a fire crackling merrily in the rusty stove soon made the cabin dry and warm.

Jim, in his shirt-sleeves, superintended the preparation of supper. The wall cupboard yielded a supply of ordinary dishes, cups, and saucers. There were old-fashioned iron knives and forks, iron spoons of different sizes, and thick, yellow, earthenware mugs. Despite Percy's slur, everything was clean.

"Make us a pan of biscuit, Budge; and I'll fry some potatoes and broil the steak," volunteered Jim. "After to-night we'll have to break in somebody else to do the cooking. You and I'll be too busy outside."

Percy heard and registered a silent vow that the cook should not be himself. Pricked by Spurling's earlier remarks, he had taken an active part in unloading the boats, and he had been glad to throw himself into one of the despised bunks to rest.

At last supper was ready. The steak, potatoes, and hot biscuit diffused a pleasant aroma through the cabin.

"Pull up your soap-boxes, all hands!" invited Spurling. "Don't be afraid of that steak! There's plenty of it for everybody. It's liable to be the last meat we'll have for some time. The butcher doesn't go by here very often."

The boys made a hearty meal. Even Percy's fastidiousness did not prevent him from eating his full share. But he took no part in the jokes flying round the table. Jim's sermon had left him rather glum. Lane noticed it.

"Why so distant, Whittington?" he inquired.

Before Percy could open his mouth to reply a black body shot with a squawk through the open door and alighted on the corner of the table close to Percy's elbow.

"Hullo! This must be Oso!" exclaimed Jim.

The crow croaked hoarsely. On Percy's plate lay a single morsel of steak, the choicest of his helping, reserved till the last. Seeing the bird's beady black eyes fasten upon it he made a quick movement to impale it with his fork. But Oso was quicker still. Down darted his sharp beak and snatched the titbit from under the very points of the tines. A single gulp and the meat was gone.