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offering my hand to help you a—hallo!”

      While he spoke the girl had sprung past him like a grasshopper, and alighted on the sand like a butterfly.

      A few minutes later and this little jesting fit had vanished, and they were both engaged with pencil and book, eagerly—for both were enthusiastic—sketching one of the most enchanting scenes that can well be imagined. We will not attempt the impossible. Description could not convey it. We can only refer the reader’s imagination to the one old, hackneyed but expressive, word—fairyland!

      One peculiarly interesting point in the scene was, that on the opposite side of the lagoon the captain could be seen holding forth to his juvenile audience.

      When a pretty long time had elapsed in absolute silence, each sketcher being totally oblivious of the other, Nigel looked up with a long sigh, and said:—

      “Well, you have chosen a most exquisite scene for me. The more I work at it, the more I find to admire. May I look now at what you have done?”

      “Oh yes, but I have done not much. I am slow,” said the girl, as Nigel rose and looked over her shoulder.

      “Why!—what—how beautiful!—but—but—what do you mean?” exclaimed the youth.

      “I don’t understand you,” said the girl, looking up in surprise.

      “Why, Kathy, I had supposed you were drawing that magnificent landscape all this time, and—and you’ve only been drawing a group of shells. Splendidly done, I admit, but why—”

      He stopped at that moment, for her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

      “Forgive me, dear child,” said Nigel, hurriedly “I did not intend to hurt your feelings. I was only surprised at your preference.”

      “You have not hurt me,” returned Kathy in a low voice, as she resumed her work, “but what you say calls back to me—my father was very fond of shells.”

      She stopped, and Nigel, blaming himself for having inadvertently touched some tender chord, hastened, somewhat clumsily, to change the subject.

      “You draw landscape also, I doubt not?”

      “Oh yes—plenty. If you come home to me to-night, I will show you some.”

      “I shall be only too happy,” returned the youth, sitting down again to his sketch, “and perhaps I may be able to give you a hint or two—especially in reference to perspective—for I’ve had regular training, you know, Kathy, and I dare say you have not had that here.”

      “Not what you will think much, perhaps, yet I have study a little in school, and very much from Nature.”

      “Well, you have been under the best of masters,” returned Nigel, “if you have studied much from Nature. And who has been your other teacher?”

      “A brother of Mr Ross. I think he must understand very much. He was an engineer, and has explained to me the rules of perspective, and many other things which were at first very hard to understand. But I do see them now.”

      “Perhaps then, Kathleen,” said Nigel, in that drawling, absent tone in which artists are apt to indulge when busy at work—“perhaps you may be already too far advanced to require instruction from me.”

      “Perhaps—but I think no, for you seems to understand a great deal. But why you call me Kathleen just now?”

      “Because I suppose that is your real name—Kathy being the short for it. Is it not so?”

      “Well, p’raps it is. I have hear mother Holbein say so once. I like Kathleen best.”

      “Then, may I call you Kathleen?”

      “If you like.”

      At this point both artists had become so engrossed in their occupation that they ceased to converse, and for a considerable time profound silence reigned—at least on their part, though not as regarded others, for every now and then the faint sound of laughter came floating over the tranquil lagoon from that part of the coral strand where Captain Roy was still tickling the fancies and expanding the imaginations and harrowing or soothing the feelings of the Cocos-Keeling juveniles.

      Inferior animal life was also in ceaseless activity around the sketchers, filling the air with those indescribably quiet noises which are so suggestive of that general happiness which was originally in terrestrial paradise and is ultimately to be the lot of redeemed creation.

      Snipe and curlews were wading with jaunty step and absorbed inquiring gaze in the shallow pools. Hermit-crabs of several species and sizes were scuttling about searching for convenient shells in which to deposit their naturally homeless and tender tails. Overhead there was a sort of sea-rookery, the trees being tenanted by numerous gannets, frigate birds, and terns—the first gazing with a stupid yet angry air; the last—one beautiful little snow-white species in particular—hovering only a few feet above the sketchers’ heads, while their large black eyes scanned the drawings with the owlish look of wisdom peculiar to connoisseurs. Noddies also were there, and, on the ground, lizards and spiders and innumerable ants engaged in all the varied activities connected with their several domestic arrangements.

      Altogether it was a scene of bright peaceful felicity, which seemed to permeate Nigel’s frame right inward to the spinal marrow, and would have kept him entranced there at his work for several hours longer if the cravings of a healthy appetite had not warned him to desist.

      “Now, Kathleen,” he said, rising and stretching himself as one is apt to do after sitting long in a constrained position, “it seems to me about time to—by the way, we’ve forgotten to bring something to eat!”

      His expression as he said this made his companion look up and laugh.

      “Plenty cocoa-nuts,” she said, pointing with her pencil to the overarching trees.

      “True, but I doubt my ability to climb these long straight stems; besides, I have got only a small clasp-knife, which would be but a poor weapon with which to attack the thick outer husk of the nuts.”

      “But I have got a few without the husks in the boat,” said the girl, rising and running to the place where the cockleshell had been left.

      She returned immediately with several nuts divested of their thick outer covering, and in the condition with which we are familiar in England. Some of them were already broken, so that they had nothing to do but sit down to lunch.

      “Here is one,” said Kathy, handing a nut to Nigel, “that has got no meat yet in it—only milk. Bore a hole in it and drink, but see you bore in the right hole.”

      “The right hole?” echoed the youth, “are some of them wrong ones?”

      “Oh yes, only one of the three will do. One of our crawbs knows that and has claws that can bore through the husk and shell. We calls him coconut crawb.”

      “Indeed! That is strange; I never heard before of a crab that fed on cocoa-nuts.”

      “This one do. He is very big, and also climbs trees. It goes about most at night. Perhaps you see one before you go away.”

      The crab to which Kathy referred is indeed a somewhat eccentric crustacean, besides being unusually large. It makes deep tunnels in the ground larger than rabbit burrows, which it lines with cocoa-nut fibre. One of its claws is developed into an organ of extraordinary power with which it can break a cocoa-nut shell, and even, it is said, a man’s limb! It never takes all the husk off a cocoa-nut—that would be an unnecessary trouble—but only enough off the end where the three eyelets are, to enable it to get at the inside. Having pierced the proper eye with one of its legs it rotates the nut round it until the hole is large enough to admit the point of its great claw, with which it continues the work. This remarkable creature also climbs the palm-trees, but not to gather nuts; that is certain, for its habits have been closely watched and it has been ascertained that it feeds only on fallen nuts. Possibly it climbs for exercise, or to obtain a more extended view of its charming habitat, or simply “for fun.” Why not?

      All this and a great deal more was told to Nigel by Kathleen,

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