LITMIR.BIZ

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best at buttered eggs.”

      “And are you really?” said Mrs. Jackson. “Most folk are best at boiled.”

      “Oh, well, I don’t count boiled,” said Susan.

      Then there were the knives and forks and plates and mugs and spoons to be thought of, and biscuit tins, big ones to keep the food in, and smaller tins for tea and salt and sugar.

      “We’ll want rather a big one for sugar, won’t we?” said Roger, who had come in and was waiting for something else to carry down to the boathouse.

      “You won’t bake, I don’t suppose,” said Mrs. Jackson.

      “I think not,” said Mate Susan.

      The pile of things on the kitchen table grew and grew as Susan crossed off the items on her list.

      John and Titty came in to show her the new flag and to see how she was getting on.

      “Who is going to be doctor?” she asked.

      “Surgeon,” said Titty. “It’s always surgeon on board ship.”

      “You are,” said John. “You’re the mate. It’s the mate’s job. He comes dancing on to the scene, ‘And well,’ says he, ‘and how are your arms and legs and liver and lungs and bones afeeling now?’ Don’t you remember?”

      “Then I ought to take some bandages and medicines and things.”

      “Oh, no,” said Titty. “On desert islands they cure everything with herbs. We’ll have all sorts of diseases, plagues, and fevers and things that no medicine is any good for and we’ll cure them with herbs that the natives show us.”

      At this point mother came in and settled the question. “No medicines,” she said. “Anyone who wants doctoring is invalided home.”

      “If it’s really serious,” said Titty, “but we can have a plague or a fever or two by ourselves.”

      John said: “What about a chart?”

      Titty said that as the ocean had never been explored, there could not be any charts.

      “But all the most exciting charts and maps have places on them that are marked ‘Unexplored’.”

      “Well, they won’t be much good for those places,” said Titty.

      “We ought to have a chart of some kind,” said John. “It’ll probably be all wrong, and it won’t have the right names. We’ll make our own names, of course.”

      They found a good map that showed the lake in a local guidebook. Titty said it wasn’t really a chart. John said it would do. And Mrs. Jackson said they could take it, but must keep it as dry as they could. That meant another tin box for things that had to be kept dry. They put in besides the guide-book some exercise-books for logs and some paper for letters home. They also put in the ship’s library. Titty had found on the shelves in the parlour a German Dictionary left by some former visitor. “It’s full of foreign language,” she said, “and we shall want it for talking with the natives.” In the end it was left behind, because it was large and heavy, and also it might be the wrong language. Instead, Titty took Robinson Crusoe. “It tells you just what to do on an island,” she said. John took The Seaman’s Handybook, and Part Three of The Baltic Pilot. Both books had belonged to his father, but John took them with him even on holidays. Mate Susan took Simple Cooking for Small Households.

      At last, when almost everything was piled in the boathouse, just before it was time for Roger and Titty to go to bed, the whole crew went up the path into the pinewood to the Peak of Darien to look once more at the island. The sun was sinking over the western hills. There was a dead calm. Far away they saw the island and the still lake, without a ripple on it, stretching away into the distance.

      “I can’t believe we’re really going to land on it,” said Titty.

      “We aren’t unless there’s wind to-morrow,” said Captain John. “We’ll have to whistle for a wind.”

      Titty and Roger, by agreement, whistled one tune after another all the way home. As they came to the farm the leaves of the beech trees shivered overhead.

      “You see,” said Titty, “we’ve got some wind. Wake up early and we’ll go out and do some more whistling before breakfast.”

      CHAPTER III

      THE VOYAGE TO THE ISLAND

      “There were three sailors of Bristol City

      Who took a boat and went to sea;

      But first with beef and captain’s biscuits

      And pickled pork they loaded she.”

      THACKERAY

      THERE WAS very little room in the Swallow when they had finished loading her at the little jetty by the boathouse. Under the main thwart was a big tin box with the books and writing paper and other things that had to be kept dry, like nightclothes. In this box was also a small aneroid barometer. John had won it as a prize at school and never went anywhere without it. Underneath the forward thwart, on each side of the mast, were large biscuit tins, with bread, tea, sugar, salt, biscuits, tins of corned beef, tins of sardines, a lot of eggs, each one wrapped separately for fear of smashes, and a big seed cake. Right forward, in front of the mast, was a long coil of stout grass rope and the anchor, but it had been found by trying that there was room for the Boy Roger here in the bows as look-out man. Then there were the two ground-sheets, in which were rolled up the tents, each with the rope that belonged to it. These were stowed just aft of the mast. The whole of the space that was left in the bottom of the boat was filled by two big sacks stuffed with blankets and rugs. Besides all these there were the things that could not be packed at all, but had to go loose, wedged in anyhow, things like the saucepan and frying-pan and kettle, and a big farm lantern. Then there was a basket full of mugs, plates, spoons, forks and knives. There was no room for anything else big except the crew and there on the jetty were four great hay bags, stuffed with hay by Mr. Jackson, the farmer, which were to serve as beds and mattresses.

      “We shall have to make two trips of it,” said Captain John.

      “Or three,” said Mate Susan. “Even with Swallow empty we shall never be able to get more than three of the haybags into her at once.”

      Able-seaman Titty had an idea. “Couldn’t we get a native to bring them in a native rowing boat?” she said.

      John looked back into the boathouse at the big rowing boat belonging to the farm. He knew, because it had been privately arranged, that mother was to pay them a visit before night to see that all was well. He knew, too, that it had been arranged that Mr. Jackson, the farmer, should row her. Mr. Jackson was as good a native as anyone could wish.

      Mother and nurse, carrying Vicky, were coming down the field.

      John went to meet them. It was agreed that the natives would bring the haybags in a rowing boat.

      “Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anything?” mother asked, looking down from the jetty into the loaded Swallow. “It’s very seldom people go on a long voyage without forgetting something.”

      “We’ve got everything that was on my list,” said Mate Susan.

      “Everything?” said mother.

      “Mother, what are you holding behind your back?” asked Titty, and mother held out a packet of a dozen boxes of matches.

      “One might almost say, By Gum,” said John. “We could never have lit the fire without them.”

      They said their farewells on the jetty.

      “If you are ready, you’d better start,” said mother.

      “Now,

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